Hetalianess
by jmp22895
Summary: This is just the kind of random hetalia idiocy that pops into my head. Nothing linear. Nothing too sensical. No real topic, whatever. Note: each of these could really be oneshots unless there are roman numerals.
1. Japanese Lessons I

"Morning everyone! Buongiorno!" Italy called out as he strode merrily down the road toward where he and his two friends, Japan and Germany, would train that morning. He was late, as he always was, but stopped short when he noticed that someone else had yet to show up.

"Hey! Where's Germany?" He asked, looking around. "Wow, did I actually beat him here? Does this mean he can't yell at me for being late? Yay!"

"Oh, good morning, Italy-kun," Japan said, drinking some sort of tea. "Germany-san is going to be a little late today."

"How come?" Italy asked brightly, sitting on the ground to maybe try to nap before Germany showed up.

"I'm not really sure," he replied. "He did leave a note, but I think he forgot I would be reading it and put parts of it in German. Do you know what the word "Bruder" means?"

"Brother," Italy answered, now splayed out on the ground.

Japan looked up at him, slightly surprised that he knew that. "Well, what about 'sich betrinken'?"

"'Drunk'."

Japan blinked. "Well, what about 'arschloch'? Or 'Transvestit"?

"'Asshole' and…um…'transvestite'…?"

Japan smiled slightly. "Wow, you know a lot of German."

Italy nodded. "You pick up on things when you hang out with Germany all day." He sat up. "Actually, I wanted to ask something? Could you maybe teach me some Japanese?"

Japan smiled some more. "Of course, Italy-san!" Then he paused. "How come?"

Italy shrugged. "Well, I was on a computer the other day and I was just typing in all kinds of stuff and I found a bunch of weird stuff, and I think parts of it were Japanese, so I was just curious what they meant."

Japan nodded, taking a sip of tea. "Like what?"

"Well, first off, what's a 'Yaoi'?"

Japan immediately began choking on his tea. "W-W-What?" He finally managed to sputter, coughing uncontrollably and dropping his tea on the ground.

"I'm sorry," Italy apologized quickly, "was that a bad word?"

"N-No!" Japan stammered, still hacking. "Err, yes. Um, well, I mean it's…w-w-what were you reading?"

"Oh it was some weird story thing. I didn't understand most of it 'cause it was in English."

Japan took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from panicking. "Ok, so w-why don't you go ask America-kun or something?"

"Oh, I did! After he finished laughing, he told me to ask you." Italy looked up at Japan, an innocent look on his face. "So what does it mean then?" He asked, smiling like he usually did.

"Err, i-it uh means that…uh…w-well…when two people…err, when men…when two men are…" His face had turned about the same color as one of Spain's tomatoes. "W-When two men are…are in a relationship…um…"

"Oh, so like me and Germany?" Italy asked brightly.

(Note: Italy is thinking of the word 'relationship' in terms of the word 'friend'.)

"W-What?"

(Note: That is most definitely _not _what Japan is thinking.)

"I-I…umm…" Japan cleared his throat, feeling extremely uncomfortable. "I-I did not realize that you were…that you and Germany were… that you two are…are in a…relationship…"

Italy looked at him, confused. "Isn't it obvious?" He asked. Then Italy smiled again. "It's ok. I'll just have to tell Germany how much I like him when he gets here! Ok, so that's what a yaoi is…" He paused to think. "Ok, so what's a seme?"

"W-W-W-Well…" Japan took a deep breath. "It's the person who…who's…" He really didn't want to describe it so he decided to dumb it down. "It's someone who's more…manly."

Italy nodded. "Oh yeah, Germany's really manly!"

"I…uh…guess…"

"Oh, so what's an uke then?" Italy asked, completely oblivious to the panic attack that Japan was currently having. "That's what everyone kept calling me!"

"I-It's the…the more…y-you know…like…the more…feminine, I guess," Japan mumbled.

Italy froze. He blinked a few times. "F…Feminine?" He asked. "I…I'm…feminine…?" He looked at the ground, looking hurt. Sure, he cooked and cleaned and wasn't very strong or big and used to wear Hungary's dresses as a child and…he shook his head. No, he was very masculine! Wasn't he? "Japan, don't you think I'm masculine?" He asked desperately.

Japan quickly glanced away. "Well…uh…"

As he tried to think of something to say, Germany strode up. "Mein gott, you would not believe the morning I've had," he muttered, looking exhausted. "First, I wake up to find my inebriated brother on the roof and—"

"GERMANY I WANNA BE SEME!"

Germany blinked. "Huh?" He looked down at the distressed Italian sitting on the ground near his feet. "You want to be a what?" Then he shook his head, deciding he didn't really want to know. "Fine, sure, you can be seme or whatever. I don't care."

Italy leapt to his feet. "I could be seme if I wanted!" He shouted. "I can be just as manly as you!" Then he ran off.

Germany shouted after him, "Wait, you still need to train!" But by then, Italy was out of sight. Germany sighed. Weirdest morning ever. "At least he's exercising…I suppose it's just you and me, Ja—your nose is bleeding."

"N-NO IT ISN'T!" Japan yelped, quickly clamping his hands over his bloody nose, and running off in the opposite direction of where Italy ran off.

Germany sighed. "Why? Why me?" He mumbled to no one in particular.

(Italy's house)

Italy sat on his bed with a piece of paper. "Alright," he said smiling, "so this is the kind of stuff that'll make me manly. So…_number one… Own a fancy Italian sports car. _Oh I already have that! This'll be easy!" His smile widened. "Ok…_number two… flirt with lots of women… _Ha! I'm already even manlier than Germany is!"

"Anyone could be more manly than that effeminate potato bastard!" Romano called from another room.

"Come on, Romano, that was rude!"

"Jesus, how the hell did you get in my house, you bastard?"

"Hi Spain!" Italy called, not surprised that, once again, Spain was there. "Kay…_number three…_huh?" He paused, trying to make sense of the words on the page. He grabbed his phone and called the first number that popped into his head.

_Ring…ring… _"Wassup!You've reached the hero! What acts of heroic heroism do you need accomplished today?"

"Hi America!" Italy replied happily. "What does 'getting laid' mean?"

There was a long awkward pause. Then America began laughing. "I-Is this still on about th-the yaoi thing?" He asked between gasps.

"Yeah," Italy answered. "I'm trying to become seme!" This resulted in more hysterics from the other line. "So what does it mean?"

America took a deep breath. "Well, it means to sleep with someone," he managed to say through his giggling.

Italy grinned, looking at the paper. "Oh wow, I'm really seme! I sleep with Germany almost every night!"

There was a loud crash on the other line as America collapsed to the floor, gasping in pain from laughing too hard. Then—beep beep beep _"I'm sorry, but your call has been disconnected. Please hang up and try again."_

Italy sighed and put the phone down. "Wow, as soon as I'm done with this, I need to go show Germany how seme I am! Let's see…_number four…"_

__

Will Italy ever become seme?

Will he ever actually fugure out what a seme is?

Will I ever actually get a life?

Find out next time on...this...thing...YEAH!

(Note: the answers are probably no, no and hell f***ing no.)


	2. Japanese Lessons II

The next day, Japan was running laps while Germany was waiting impatiently for a certain Italian man to show up. It wasn't very different from any other day to be honest, except that Italy seemed later than usual. Also Japan was quieter than he usually was. Not that Japan was usually that talkative, but…

"Hey Japan," Germany called as the small Japanese man passed by.

Japan slowed to a stop. "Do you need something, Germany-san?" He asked.

"Can I ask you something? What was Italy shouting about yesterday? About…what was it…?" Germany thought for a moment. "I think it was 'seme' or at least something close to that."

"O-Oh yes that, um, well, you see, uh…" Japan stammered. "…it's a, um, an interesting topic…it's, well…you see, it's…" Japan felt his face heating up. "I-I-I—look at the time I really should be getting back to some other form of exercise heheh yes I will do that now…"

As he said this, there was a loud screeching noise. A red car swerved out of nowhere, skidding across the dirt road. Japan screamed and jumped out of the way at the last second, landing in the dirt with a loud thud. Germany blinked a few times, then quickly strode over and pulled Japan to his feet.

"Ciao!" Came the loud exuberant voice from the car, which had now stopped. Italy hopped out with a large grin. Then he froze. "I-I mean…" He cleared his throat a few times. "Ciao," he said in an awkward sounding deep voice, puffing out his chest. He strode over.

Germany glared at him. "Italy, you're late… W…What's with the voice?" He finished, suddenly feeling annoyed and confused.

"Ve~, I am being seme," he answered, feeling slightly disappointed that his voice was still higher than Germany's.

Germany sighed. "Italy, I have no idea what a seme is, nor do I really want to, but—" He froze, doing a double-take on Italy's face.

Italy and Japan both glanced at him, nervous. Then Japan noticed what Germany had been looking at. "I-Italy-kun…what…what is that on your face?"

"Oh this is my moustache!"

Japan blinked a few times. Then he giggled slightly. "Well…um…" he glanced over at Germany, who hadn't moved. "Since it seems that Germany-san is, um, incapacitated at the moment, I'll just ask …um…why do you have a moustache?"

"Because it's manly!" Italy pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. "Now I just need to get muscles and lose my virginity! I'll be the most seme person ever! I'll be even more seme than Germany! Then we could do all kinds of seme stuff together! Japan, your nose is bleeding."

"Look at the time I'm going to run more laps." Japan took off as quickly as possible.

"Germany, is Japan feeling sick?" He asked. When there was no answer, he looked up at Germany. Who was still staring at the moustache. "Germany?" He waved his hand in front of his friend's face. "Germany, are you ok? Did my seme-ness kill you?"

"…Uh, yeah we can get pasta later…"

"But I didn't…" he thought for a moment. "Ok!" He answered. _Cool! Being seme gets me free pasta!_ He thought happily. He skipped off. Then he remembered that manly people don't skip. So he switched to something between a strut and a march. (Translation: he looked utterly ridiculous.)

Germany blinked a few times. It was taking all his willpower to keep from either screaming in terror or breaking down into hysterical laughter. Or puking. One of those.

He followed after Italy, rubbing his temples. Italy may've been weak, dependant, and pathetic, but one of these days, he was going to kill Germany anyway. Maybe a heart attack. Or a stroke. Oh god, he did not want a stroke, because there was no way in hell Italy would take care of him afterword. Or Prussia. Maybe he could pity Austria into it…

When Germany stopped rubbing his temples, he noticed that they'd walked into a small nearby town. "Italy," he asked slowly, "where are we going?"

Italy ignored him, because that's the seme thing to do.

Instead, he just walked into a gym, Germany following close behind. "For the love of…" Germany mumbled. "You know, Italy, if you wanted to exercise, you could've just shown up and actually done the training with Japan and me." He glanced around. "Also, I think we forgot Japan."

(Meanwhile, where they'd been training earlier, Japan had bled out through the nose due to several inappropriate images in his mind of Italy being seme.)

Italy looked back at Germany. "I'm sorry, but your exercises aren't seme enough for me!"

"Ok, I'm only going to ask this one more time," Germany muttered darkly. "What the hell is a seme?"

Italy shrugged. "You know, manly."

Germany blinked, stopping mid-step. _Wait, Italy doesn't consider me manly? The weakest, scrawniest, girliest (alright second to Poland) man I know doesn't consider me manly? _Since Germany prided himself of being strong, organized, and, well, manly, this was the equivalent of sucker-punching him in the groin.

"I…I…huh…?" Was all he managed to say in reply.

"Yeah, Japan taught me what it means." Italy walked over to the nearest machine, stepping onto it. "Ok, now how do you work this…?" He looked around at all the buttons until he found a start button. "Oh, this one!" He jammed it with his finger.

There was a loud crash as he got flung off the treadmill and into a mirror. Several others exercising looked over in concern. Germany walked over to his friend. "You alright?" He asked.

"?atsaP" Italy blinked a few times then shook his head. "Ow. Ok, Let's try than again," he murmured to himself. He got back up and stared blankly at the treadmill. Since he'd never used an exercise machine in his life, he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. "Ok…maybe if I…" He stepped onto the treadmill and, again, went flying backward. He landed on the floor with a loud squeak, making Germany wonder if making Italy motivated to exercise would do more harm than good.

"Italy, you can't just step on a treadmill like that," Germany told him, as Italy, of course, stepped back onto the machine and was yet again flung to the floor.

Italy got back up and walked (ok limped) to the next machine. "Ok, I'm not gonna use that thing. I'll just use this." He tugged on the handle on the machine.

Germany rolled his eyes as Italy tried to work the machine, giving up after two seconds and going to the next one. Then someone nearby called, "Hey Germany."

Germany looked up to find a familiar blond walking on a treadmill. "America?" He asked. "What're you doing here?"

America tugged lightly on the red white and blue sweatband he was wearing. "I'm exercising," he answered. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm gonna prove to that stupid English jerk who's the real fat-ass" He looked past Germany. "What the hell is Italy doing?"

Germany glanced over his shoulder as Italy picked up a five pound weight and fell backwards. "Who knows," he answered with a sigh, as Italy began squirming under the weight. Germany grabbed the weight off of Italy and put it back.

"Th-Thanks Germany!" Italy gasped, sitting up. "Ve~, that thing's dangerous."

It took all of Germany's willpower to keep from throwing Italy out the window. Then he noticed something. "Hey, Italy, you're…your, um…" he rubbed his nose slightly, "…the left side of your moustache is gone."

Italy blinked and looked in a mirror. "Oh," he said, noting the missing half of his 'moustache'. "I guess maybe I should've used permanent marker." He smiled up at Germany.

Germany just stared at him, the words "not manly" echoing through his head. "You're shoe is untied," he muttered, walking away. He hopped onto a treadmill near America, ignoring Italy's sudden cries of "Wait, Germany, help me!"

"Hey, America," Germany asked a few minutes later, "do you think I'm manly?"

America looked up, looking startled. After a few seconds, he said slowly, "Um, listen, I understand how hard it must be to come out of the closet after such a long time, but I don't like you that way…"

Germany stared at him, trying to understand what he was talking about. Then he blanched. "Oh. Oh no I…no I-I'm not gay," he stammered. "That is not what I meant."

"You're not gay? Damn it, I had forty bucks riding on that bet!"

"No, I was just—" Germany froze, stumbling off the back of the treadmill. "You bet someone that I was gay?"

"Yeah. Hey, is there any chance you'd be willing to pretend to be gay in front of England? Just for a minute or two. Oh, and I think if it's with Prussia, I get twenty more bucks."

"Nein! No! Hell no! Mein Gott, that's disgusting!"

America sighed. "Damn. Well maybe if I convince Prussia to…" he trailed off, looking across the room. "Um, Germany, I think you should go get Italy real quick. That guy over there is trying to sell him steroids."

Germany looked over to see Italy (with his shoes still untied) getting some sort of pill handed to him by a scruffy-looking man. Germany sprinted over and smacked Italy's head. "What are you doing?" He practically shouted.

"Oh, hi Germany!" Italy said with a smile. "This man said this medicine will make me strong in no time! Then I'll be really seme!"

Germany sent the man a scathing glare, causing him to run away screaming in terror. "Italy, you're an idiot. I don't care if you're trying to be 'seme' or whatever, but you're not taking drugs."

America walked over. "You're still on about that seme thing? Even after Japan explained it to you?"

"Yeah!" Italy answered. "I can be manly too!"

America blinked. Then he started giggling. "Crap, he really didn't explain it to you, did he?" He put his hand on Italy's shoulder. "Alright, the term 'yaoi' is generally used in reference to gay relationships."

Italy thought for a moment. "Oh, I guess that's why me and Germany were kissing in all of those comics," he said almost to himself.

Germany turned red. "E-E-Excuse me?" He stammered.

America laughed again. "Oh, and seme is usually the person on top in a sexual relationship."

Germany was completely mortified and bright red. Italy on the other hand just laughed a little bit. "Oops. I guess that's why Japan was acting so weird earlier," he said. He looked at Germany. "Never mind, Germany, I don't want to be seme anymore."

Germany just looked back at him. Then he decided to go home. Quickly.

When he walked into his house, Poland strode out. "Hey, Germany, your brother is unconscious."

"WHY THE F*** ARE YOU STILL IN MY HOUSE?"


	3. I'm Canada

Canada sat against a tree on the lawn outside of where the other nations were holding a meeting. He'd left earlier when no one would listen to him, hoping that someone might notice him in his absence, but after sitting there for over an hour, he'd finally given up. He slowly got up to go back inside.

One of the guards in front of the door stopped him. "I'm sorry, but there's an important meeting going on inside this building."

Canada blinked. "B-But I'm supposed to be in that meeting," he stammered.

The guard gave an annoyed sigh. "Listen, kid, civilians are strictly prohibited beyond this point. Sorry." Not that the guard sounded sorry in the least bit.

"B-But I'm Canada!" He protested.

"Who?"

There was a long silence as Canada let that question sink in. The guard shoed him away. He walked dejectedly back to where he'd been sitting earlier, leaning against the tree and sliding back to the ground. His bear, Kumajiro, glanced sideways at him. "Who're you?" He asked for the millionth time that day.

"I'm—" Canada froze midsentence. Then he mumbled, "I'm…nobody…" Why did it matter? No one even knew he was there. No one cared where he was. No one so much as remembered his name. He might as well be nobody. A feeling of loneliness washed over him like a tidal wave, threatening to pull him back into the murky ocean with the undertow…

"Hey there, Nobody!"

Canada jumped and looked up. Then he yelped and fell back at the ruby red eyes so close to his. Prussia laughed at him. "Hey, for Nobody, you sure scream like a girl!" He said with a grin.

Canada stared at him for a moment. Then he sighed and turned back the other way. "What do you want, Prussia," he mumbled back.

Prussia frowned and sat down next to Canada, Gilbird perched atop his head. "Well that's not a polite greeting. Especially for someone as awesome as me." Canada rolled his eyes. Prussia sighed. "Alright, let's try this again." He cleared his throat. "Hello, Canada, how're you doing today?"

There was a long awkward pause as Prussia looked expectantly at the blond. After a minute, Prussia cleared his throat again. This time, he made his voice high and nasally. "_Well hi, Prussia! I'm feeling kind of down today, but I feel better now that you're here! _Aw thanks, Canada. No need to flatter me." Canada rolled his eyes again, trying to ignore the albino. "_Oh, I'm not flattering you, Prussia. You're just so damn amazing! _I am pretty amazing, aren't I? _Golly, I wish I was as awesome as you are, eh? _Well I—"

"Will you shut up?" Canada snapped. Prussia jumped slightly, startled at the sound of Canada's raised voice (which admittedly was about the same volume as America's speaking voice, but for Canada, that's pretty loud). "I mean, oh my god, do you even realize how annoying you are? You're almost as bad as America!"

Prussia blinked a few times. Then he smirked. "Oh, so you're having sibling issues? I know how you feel. The other day, me and West were out drinking and there were these two hot chicks but then they turned out to be dudes and it's kinda hazy but I think one may've been Poland—"

"Please stop."

Prussia paused, then gave a sigh. "Well you're boring," he decided. Then he paused. He turned toward the nearby building. "Wait a second," he said, looking confused, "aren't you supposed to be in there?"

Canada looked at the ground. "They seem to be doing pretty well without me…" he murmured almost inaudibly.

Prussia laughed. "Is that what's bothering you?" He asked. He leaned back against the tree. "You know what your problem is? You have no self esteem."

"And you have too much."

Prussia grinned at him. "Why wouldn't I? I'm awesome!" Then he thought for a moment. He reached out and placed his hand on Canada's head.

Canada blinked a few times. Then he slowly asked, "W…What are you…doing…eh…?"

"I'm amazing, so I figure if I do this long enough, some of my awesomeness will rub off on you."

Canada swatted Prussia's hand away. "Get off," he muttered.

Prussia frowned. "Alright, let's try plan B." He stood up and grabbed Canada's arm, pulling him to his feet. "Alright, you just need a morale booster. The more good things you think about yourself, the better you'll feel about yourself. Repeat after me: My name is Canada."

Canada sighed. Prussia wasn't going to leave any time soon, so might as well play along. "My name is Canada," he repeated.

"I'm awesome."

"I am awesome," Canada repeated again, smiling slightly.

"Not quite as awesome as Prussia, but I'm pretty awesome nonetheless," Prussia added smirking.

"Not quite as—" he paused. "Wait, what?"

"Uh, sorry, never mind." Prussia said quickly. "Ok, so now it's your turn. Just say something awesome about yourself."

"Um, ok," Canada murmured. "Um…I'm Canada. Um…I…" he looked around for something to say. "I'm Canada and I…and I own a polar bear," he finished, holding up Kumajiro with a small smile.

"See?" Prussia patted Kumajiro's head. "That's pretty awesome. Ok, what else?"

Canada closed his eyes. "Um…I…" He pursed his lips. "I…I have a badass healthcare system!" He announced, grinning for the first time in a few days. Prussia grinned back at him. Canada continued. "And milk that comes in bags is a billion times cooler than milk in cartons!"

Prussia gave a "Hell yeah!"

Canada stood up, thinking of something else to say. "I'm Canada and the metric system rules!" He announced. "I'm Canada, and maple syrup is freaking delicious! I'm Canada and my glasses are so much sexier than America's are!"

"Yeah they are!" Prussia shouted encouragingly.

"I'm Canada and Quebec wants to be its own country!" He shouted.

There was a long awkward pause as Canada and Prussia realized what Canada had said. Then Canada slumped back to the ground with a mumble of, "…oh god I suck…"

Prussia sighed. "Verdammt...and you were on a roll too," he muttered. He looked around. Then he gave an evil smile. "I got it. We're not in a populated enough area," he decided. He grabbed Canada's arm and dragged him toward the building the other nations were in.

Canada paled. "W-What? No! I-I'm fine with doing this outside…" he protested weakly. "Prussia, let go…"

Prussia walked up to the guards. "Hey there!" He said. "We're supposed to be in there, so 'scuse me."

A guard grabbed his arm. "Sorry, civilians not allowed beyond this point."

Prussia looked at the guy. "Excuse me," he said loudly, feigning anger. "Civilians? _Civilians? _I am Prussia, greatest nation that ever has or ever will exist, and you have the audacity to call me a civilian?" He was talking loudly, thinking himself all the more awesome for using the word 'audacity'.

The other guard spoke up. "You're not even a nation anymore."

Prussia glared at him. "That's just because the world could not handle my awesomeness," he declared. "And anyway, don't you know who _he_ is?" At this, he grabbed Canada's arm. "This is—" He froze, thinking. Then he smirked. "This is the freaking United States of America!" He lied, getting an annoyed glare from his Canadian friend. The guards paled. "That's right," he continued, "this guy has so many nukes shoved up his ass he could wipe you two Arschlöcher off the face of the planet without a second thought. Now if you'll excuse us." He shoved past the two guards, dragging Canada who mumbled something about Manifest Destiny and heroism.

Once inside, Canada smacked at Prussia's head, who just laughed.

They walked into the meeting as America was finishing up his speech on the importance of fast food in airports. "What's up, Miststücke?" Prussia shouted loudly, getting blank stares and a few glares from the German-speaking countries. "Canada here has something he wants to say!" He grabbed Canada's arm and pushed him onto a chair.

For once, all eyes were on Canada. Canada stood on the chair, suddenly unable to breathe, let alone move. The one time he actually wanted to be invisible, and everyone was staring at him. "…I-I…I-I-I…I…"

Prussia looked up at Canada. "Psst. Hey. Canada," he whispered. "Say something." There was no coherent response. So Prussia decided to step in for him. "Attention everyone, this here is Canada and he…" he trailed off, trying to remember exactly what Canada had been shouting. "…He…he is bringing sexy back!"

There was a long pause. Followed by hysterical laughter. Followed by a mortified Canadian locking himself in his room and vowing to never come out.

…

Prussia sat outside of Canada's hotel door several hours later, not entirely sure what to say. His brother had been pretty angry at him for interrupting a meeting, but he'd managed to escape his brother's wrath with a black eye and several death threats. "Um, I'm guessing that wasn't something that I was supposed to announce…?" Prussia asked with a nervous laugh.

The door opened and closed, as Canada shoved Kumajiro out with the words, "Go for the jugular."

"Who're you?"

Prussia patted the bear's head, silently praying that his throat would stay intact. "Um, I'm sorry?" He tried again. "I…uh…didn't mean to…um…make you look like an ass…" He cursed inwardly. He really wasn't used to apologizing. Why would he be? He was usually too awesome for apologies.

He left after a minute and came back an hour later with a tray of pancakes. "Hey, Canada, I brought you some pancakes. You like pancakes." There was still no answer. Prussia tried to think of something else to say. "Um, I also brought some marijuana. You like that too, right?"

The door opened. Canada rubbed his eyes, his glasses askew on his face. "You're not going to leave me alone until I accept your apology." It was more a statement than a question.

Prussia grinned at him. "Yup," he answered. "So you want the weed?"

Canada sighed and let his friend inside, smiling.

_Just so you know my first language is English, and I take Spanish. So if you happen to know I made a mistake for any of the German words, feel free to correct me. In fact, please do. As it stands, this is my translations for the German:_

_Arschlöcher ~ Assholes_

_Miststücke ~ Bitches (or at least something along those lines)_

_Verdammt ~ Damn_

_Thanks for the help with the German!_


	4. PARTY

_Hey everyone, I put in a lot of foreign languages, so if you want to know what they mean, go ahead to the bottom of the page. And again, please tell me of any mistakes you find._

Once a month, the nations decided to put aside their differences and hold some sort of fun get-together. It had been America's idea originally; a way to keep up a feeling of kinship and camaraderie between the nations. A clever, heroic proposition, he'd thought. And so once a month, or twice if the first one didn't break any bones (which somehow seemed to happen every time), a nation's name would be drawn from a hat and they would decide what the nations would be doing.

A few days ago, they'd pulled the name _Gilbert Beilschmidt_ from the hat. Not that anyone knew how Prussia's name had even gotten there, since he wasn't allowed at the meetings (it was like a ghost had slipped it in…), but when a name was pulled, it was pulled. So it'd been Prussia's choice. And Prussia, of course, chose drinking.

America had arrived two hours late to the bar due to traffic. So now he was sitting on a bar stool, terrified out of his mind.

"No not terrified," America quickly corrected himself, fixing his bomber jacket. "Heroes don't get terrified." There was a loud crash and suddenly a terrified Latvia slid across the bar, knocking over drinks as he sped past, and then there was loud Russian cheering from nearby. "Heroes get mildly nervous," he finished, wide-eyed.

He turned in his barstool, looking out across the chaos. The drunken nations had already destroyed half the bar, and Latvia's left ankle. They'd driven out the other customers by now, so it was just nations. Just a bunch of crazed, drunken, violent, intoxicated nations. America silently prayed this wasn't going to turn into WWIII.

"Ok," he said to himself, "just stay calm." He needed to do the heroic thing and stop the nations from destroying everything. Which was by far easier said than done. "Come on, I can't the only sober one in here," he murmured, looking around the room.

_Ok, um, who's still sober? _He began listing nations in his head. _Ok… Spain. Where is Spain? _He scanned the room for Spain, finding him in the corner under a pile of Bloody Maries (they're made from tomatoes) and sexually violating Romano's hair.

"Ya sabes R-R'mano," he mumbled, his speech slurred, "yo siempre pienso que tu pelo es bellísimo." He gave Romano's hair curl another drunken tug.

Romano gave him a half hearted glare and swatted at Spain's hand, being just as drunk as Spain was. "Chiudi quella (censor) di bocca, bastardo," he mumbled, shoving Spain onto the floor.

America swore under his breath. _Damn it. Come on, anyone else? Um…what about Japan? _America grinned to himself._ Yeah, Japan is a responsible person! He wouldn't—"_

"Chotto, bartender-san! Me and my Girisha no yūjin need more sake!" Japan shouted loudly from nearby, trying to speak English but mixing in some Japanese, oblivious to the fact that his friend, Greece, had passed out almost an hour ago.

America smacked his forehead. _Ok, not Japan._ He took a deep, calming breath. _Maybe Germany is still somewhat normal, _he thought, a small seed of hope growing in his heart. That seed was uprooted and set on fire when he saw Italy and Germany having a violent tickle fight on the floor. Yup. He was hammered. America set his head on the bar and closed his eyes. _Damn it._

His eyes shot open. _Oh for the love of god, please tell me Belarus is sober! _He sat up and quickly scanned the room, finally finding Belarus unconscious on the other side of the room, a large knife protruding from the table she was sprawled over. _Oh thank god. _He let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. _Alright, wonder how Russia—_

"Hallo, comrade!" A large gloved hand smacked America's back, knocking the wind out of him. "You are enjoying the party too, da?"

America looked warily up at Russia. "Um, y-you're not drunk are you?" He asked, trying to keep his eyes from straying to Russia's pipe, which was clenched in his hand like it usually was.

Russia laughed. "I hold my liquor better than anyone in here," he said, taking another long swig of his vodka. "Come on, why don't you drink a little?" He asked, holding out another bottle of vodka.

America shook his head. "Are you insane?" He asked. Russia just smiled back at him. _Oh, right, _America thought. "Well, I'm the hero! And if I start drinking, I won't be able to be heroic. I'll just look like that!" He motioned to Switzerland, laying on the floor and hugging his gun.

Russia shrugged. "But every else is having a great time!" He insisted, setting a small bottle of vodka on the bar near America's arm. "Right Latvia?" He called.

"…mâmiò…" came the weak response from the floor nearby.

Russia just laughed again. "See?" He smiled at America. "Everyone is enjoying the party. Belarus is unconscious. And look, I finally convinced China to become one with Mother Russia!"

"Xióngmāo!" China shouted loudly, beating Estonia with a large wok.

America watched China for a moment then said, "I don't think—" but then he realized that Russia was long gone. "Damn communists," America muttered, pushing away the half empty vodka bottle Russia had set down by his arm.

Suddenly a small Englishman landed with a thud on America's back. "H-Hey! Hey look! Hey look what I found! I found America~!" He shouted, obviously drunk. "I was" *hic* "wonderin' if you would be here" *hic* "America." *hic*

America sighed. "Damn, England, just how much did you—what the…?" He stared at England for a second. "W…Why exactly are you wearing that tutu?" He managed to ask, wanting to claw his eyes out.

"What tutu?" England asked, somehow not realizing he was wearing a pink sparkling tutu.

America blinked. Then he shouted, "Damn it, France, stop taking advantage of England while he's drunk!"

"But it is so fun, mon ami," France replied, sitting down next to the two of them, a glass of red wine in his hand. It wasn't that surprising that he was naked. He wasn't drunk, but America doubted that he was going to be helping fix the mess.

"Hey America…America…A…America…" England stammered his names a few times. "So…So I was just…I just want you t' know that…that I…that I'd still respect you if you're gay," he finished, patting America's shoulder a few times.

America swatted his hand away. "I'm not gay, you ass."

"Y' know, I 'amember when you was…you were…y' were just a little kid and so tiny!" He patted America's head. "A-And you were such a polite boy too. What happened?" He hugged America's head. "You were so tiny!" He sobbed. "And nowadays you're just as France as obnoxious."

America sighed. "Good to know," he muttered.

Suddenly, England was standing on the bar. "Hey guys! Guys!" *hic* "T-The other day I heard the best song ev'r!" He was shouting loudly, so most of the others had gone quiet, looking up at him expectantly. America sighed and leaned on his hands. Then England began to sing loudly.

"_God bless America~!"_

America's eyes shot wide open. "Shit, wait England don't—"

"_Land that I love~!"_

"I swear to god man—"

"_Stand beside __**HER**__!"_

"SON OF A—"

"_And guide __**HER**__!"_

"YOU STUPID F—"

"_Through the night with the light from above!"_

The room burst into laughter. America began banging his head on the bar, face red. "Son. Of. A. Bitch." America growled unhappily.

"Hee hee. That song called you a girl!" Someone giggled from next to him. "So does that mean you're my sister now?"

America glared up at his twin brother, Canada. "Oh shut up," he muttered, fixing his glasses. Then he blinked, sitting up. "Um, two things, bro. First, are you high…?"

Canada just giggled some more. "Come on, bro, lighten up, eh," he said, hugging America. "You gotta relax~ man! England and France got the hang of it!" He pointed to the two nations currently doing the Cancan on the bar.

"Sure they do," America mumbled. "Second, where is your shirt?"

"Damn it, England," Prussia shouted angrily, wearing a Canadian hoodie backwards, "this isn't an invisibility cloak! You lied to me! Damn you!" He hiccupped and fell to the floor, Gilbird flying drunken circles around his head. "Schweinehund…"

America groaned. "Hell, Prussia, give Canada his shirt back."

"NEIN! It's MINE now! MINE!"

America was starting to get annoyed. "Ok, all of you stop what you're doing!" He shouted loudly, standing. "France, England, stop dancing! Canada, for Christ sake, put your shirt back on! Prussia, stop being an ass! China, stop being a communist! Spain, stop touching Romano! And for god's sake, Poland, just stop! Please, just stop!"

"Like, what was I doing?" Poland asked, quickly hopping off of Lithuania, who was looking extremely dazed.

"America, when did you become so mean?" England whined giving a tight hug.

"Um, guten tag," Germany answered groggily. "America is that way." He rubbed his head and pushed England off of him. "Gott, what happened?" He murmured, starting to sober up.

"Ve~ Germany sure is silly when he's drunk!" Italy giggled, hugging Germany's waist.

"Italy, what the hell happened to your clothes?"

"Yo Germany!" America dragged him to his feet, ignoring the dizzy Italian now trying to remember why he was in his underwear. "Germany, I need your help. Go attack someone or something."

Germany glowered at him. Then he noticed Prussia, who was currently dangling from a light on the ceiling. "Bruder?" He asked, looking slightly confused. "Ach zum, Teufel? Komm her, schwachkopf!"

"Na klar!" Prussia shouted. He let go of the light he was dangling from and landed with a crash on top of Germany's head, immediately knocking both of them unconscious. Gilbird landed on Prussia's head.

America sighed. Why was being a hero so damn hard? America folded his arms, thinking. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tranquilizer gun. Then he thought better of it and slipped it back in. _I better save that for later…_he decided.

"Hey America."

America turned around. Russia struck his head with a pipe, and he fell down unconscious.

"Um…was there a…a reason that you…did that?" Lithuania asked quietly from next to Russia, staring down in shock at the slightly twitching American.

Russia smiled at him. "Come on, Lithuania, it's a party!" He replied, patting Lithuania on the shoulder.

…

The next day, the nations voted to stop getting together. Ever. They also voted to beat the shit out of Prussia the next time he came within three feet of a meeting. The bar they'd visited closed down forever. Germany and Prussia were in the hospital, recovering from concussions, England had decided to kill France, and, for reasons unknown, China woke up in Russia's house.

And they all lived happily ever after. (What…?)

_So here are the translations to the many foreign languages. Hooray. Again, please correct me if any of these are wrong._

_Ya sabes, yo siempre pienso que tu pelo es bellísimo ~ you know, I always think that your hair is beautiful (Spanish)_

_Chiudi quella (censor) di bocca, bastardo ~ Shut the f*** up, bastard (Italien)_

_Chotto ~ Hey (Japanese transliteration)_

_Girisha no yūjin ~ Greek friend (Japanese transliteration)_

_Sake ~ it's an alcoholic Japanese drink_

_Da ~ yes (Russian transliteration [seriously, did anyone need this translated?])_

_Mâmiò ~ mommy (Latvian)_

_Xióngmāo ~ Panda (Chinese transliteration) (in case anyone cares, it's not supposed to make sense in context)_

_Mon ami ~ my friend (French)_

_Schweinehund ~ bastard (German)_

_guten tag ~ good afternoon (German)_

_Gott ~ God (German)_

_Bruder?_ _Ach zum, Teufel? Komm her, schwachkopf! __~ Brother? What the hell? Come here, moron! (German)_

_Na klar ~ Sure thing (German)_

_Well, that was fun. See you guys eventually._


	5. Nighttime Escapades

_Happy Valentine's Day people! I decided to try my first attempt at anything even resembling a fluff-type story with my favorite pairing. And yes, this is one of the few yaoi things I like, so if you don't want to read yaoi fluff stuff, go ahead and skip this chapter. I'm sorry if it sucks. Feedback appreciated. Death threats, not so much._

There was a loud thud as something hard hit Germany's stomach. His eyes shot open. For a split second, he thought someone was attacking him. He sat up, ready to bash someone's skull in. Then he realized that Italy had just rolled over in his sleep. Germany sighed deeply and lay back down. He was never really sure how Italy would always end up there, but nevertheless, there he was, yet again, sound asleep in Germany's bed. Germany could've sworn he'd locked the door last night, but a certain albino Prussian probably forgot to relock it after he got back from…well, whatever it was that Prussia did on Saturday nights. Probably drinking or something with Spain and France…

Italy mumbled something in his sleep and swatted Germany's face. Germany glared at him, resisting the urge to throw Italy through the wall. Normally, Italy would sleep peacefully through the night, not so much as stirring, the exact opposite of how he was during the day. Unfortunately for Germany, the Italian had eaten an entire container of gelato before bed, so he would be tossing and turning all night. Wonderful. Well, at least he was wearing underwear, which was more than what he usually wore at night.

Italy mumbled some more and rolled the other way. Germany sighed again and shut his eyes for a while, attempting to go back to sleep. But then Italy rolled back toward him, the whole time mumbling in Italian. Germany opened one eye and glared at Italy, as if it would actually have some effect. Or that Italy would spontaneously combust. But neither of those would be happening any time soon.

He switched his indignant glare to the digital clock on his bedside. 2:03 A.M. Perfect. He wondered if he could maybe get a warm glass of milk or something, since that supposedly helped someone fall back asleep. But he remembered the last time he tried that with Italy in his bed. When he'd come back, Italy was lying across both sides of the bed. Germany had ended up having to sleep on the couch. (And he woke up with permanent marker on his face spelling "Schwul" [gay]. Damn Prussia.)

Germany rolled onto his side, facing away from the small Italian. He was in for a long, sleepless night.

Italy's knee shot up, bashing into the small of Germany's back, and sending him sprawling onto the ground. Germany groaned and stood back up. Why was it that Italy seemed stronger when asleep? He rubbed his back and got back into the bed, turning toward Italy so that if he so much as moved Germany would be able to break one of his limbs. But for once, Italy wasn't moving. Germany watched him closely for a while, ready to attack. After about a minute Germany allowed his eyes to drift shut.

_Take deep even breaths, _he though hazily. _Deep…even…_

Italy shifted again, murmuring something in Italian. Germany halfheartedly glared at him. Italy was sound asleep, a small smile on his face. Germany sighed. He couldn't really stay mad at Italy too long, especially when he looked at him like that… No wait, Italy was asleep, not looking at him. Always so hard to tell, since his eyes were perpetually closed.

Italy mumbled some more and giggled, and Germany couldn't help but chuckle a little. Then he rolled onto his back. "Idiot," he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, shutting his eyes again. "What are you dreaming about…?"

Almost as if he were responding to Germany's rhetoric, Italy mumbled, "Pasta~!" Then something wet clamped around Germany's ear.

Germany's eyes shot open, trying to figure out what was happening. Then he yelled and fell sideways off his bed, dislodging his ear from Italy's mouth. "Son of a bitch!" He yelped, wiping his ear frantically as he rolled on the floor. "Verdammt! Scheisse! Schweinehund! F*****" He continued for another long stream of expletives for another couple of minutes. Then he sat up and grimaced unhappily. "Eww…you stupid little…ugh, that's disgusting…"

He got up and walked into the bathroom and disinfected his ear for a few minutes. Then he walked back into his room, glaring daggers at the Italian idiot asleep in his bed. He was tempted to cover Italy in BBQ sauce and feed him to the dogs. That would be fun to watch.

Germany sat on his bed and lay back down. _Please, god, _he prayed silently,_ please just let me fall back asleep. I'm sorry for everything I've done, I'm sorry for anything my brother has done, I'm sorry for everything either of us will ever do in the future. Please just let me sleep!_

He lay there for a long time, half trying to fall asleep, half trying to watch Italy for any signs of movement. Then his eyes slowly began drifting shut. Vague images passed through his mind as he began slipping out of consciousness…people talking… flashes of red… children laughing…

Then Germany flinched and sat up again. He blinked sleepily a few times, trying to figure out what'd just woken him up. He glanced at his clock. 2:33 A.M. Shit. He lay back down with a thud. _Why the hell does this stuff happen to me? _He thought unhappily, massaging his temple with one hand and tucking the other beneath his pillow.

Italy's hair curl brushed against his nose.

_What the…? _Germany swatted the hair loop away, only to have it hit his nose again. Oh, that was what woke him up. He scooted back a little, but Italy just snuggled even closer, the hair loop tickling Germany's nose. Germany flinched away slightly. He could never figure out that damn hair of Italy's. That one damn hair curl always stuck straight out of the side of his head, defying gravity, defying logic… And he couldn't figure out why Italy would always get so…quiet when people touched the damn thing. If Germany ever got the chance, he would just cut the damn thing off.

And that gave Germany an idea.

Germany slowly sat up, watching Italy sleeping peacefully. Then he turned and grabbed some scissors from his bedside table. It was Italy's fault he was awake. Might as well get some payback. He tentatively reached out and waved a hand in front of Italy's face. He could never tell when Italy was awake or not, since his eyes were always closed. Sometimes he forgot what color they even were. He was pretty sure they were brown, or amber, or whatever.

Germany waved his hand again and smirked slightly, sure that Italy was sound asleep. Maybe after this the obnoxious Italian would think twice about sneaking into his house at night. Then he reached out and roughly grabbed Italy's hair curl.

Italy moaned.

Germany drew his hand back quickly. _The hell…?_ He cautiously reached forward and poked it. Italy seemed to flinch slightly. "What the hell…?" This time Germany said it out loud, not caring too much if he woke Italy (not like that was physically possible). "What the hell is with this thing?" He grabbed it again, and again, Italy moaned in his sleep. "I mean, he can't feel this thing…can he…?" He wondered quietly.

Germany put the scissors back on the table and laid back down, turning to closely inspect the hair curl. _What the hell is with this stupid hair?_ He frowned, patting the top of Italy's hair. It really only happened with that one stupid curl. Why was that? Germany grabbed it again.

Italy rolled over, thudding into Germany's chest. "Ger…ma…ny…" He mumbled faintly.

Germany flinched and looked down at Italy. He felt like his brain had just short circuited. _W-What the hell? _He stared at Italy, feeling confused. He seemed to still be asleep. Germany just stared at him for a few seconds, not moving, unable to move.

Then his arms seemed to move on their own, slipping around Italy and pulling him closer. _What the hell…? _Was all that ran through his mind. Then he pulled him closer; their lips brushed against each oth—

The door slammed open. "Hey West," Prussia called loudly, "I kinda just accidentally locked Spain in a freezer and—what the f—?"

Germany fell out of his bed for the third time that night. "P-Prussia!" He yelped. "I-I…"

Prussia blinked a few times. "What the hell were you doing?" He asked, looking somewhat confused. He looked over at Italy, still sound asleep through all the yelling. Then he sighed. "Was Italy doing shit in his sleep?" He asked.

"Huh?" Germany still couldn't think straight. "U-Um, yeah…y-yeah he was…was doing shit in his sleep…" He finally stammered back.

Prussia nodded. "Yeah, France one time told me 'bout something called 'sexomnia' where people do shit like that while they sleep. Didn't believe him of course, since, y' know, it's France we're talking about, but I guess maybe if Italy has it too it could be a real thing." He shrugged, pulling Germany to his feet. "Whatever. Don't worry too much about it. Help me get Spain out of the freezer and I won't blog about this."

Germany nodded dumbly and quickly followed his brother out the door. After managing to pull a semi-conscious Spaniard from the freezer and sending his on his drunken way, Germany passed out on the couch, vowing to never, ever, let Italy inside his of house again. Well, at least Italy had been asleep.

…

Italy woke up the next day, looking around sleepily and noting Germany wasn't there. "Germany?" He hopped to his feet and walked into the hallway. "Germany?" He called a little louder.

After a minute of wandering through his friend's house, he found Germany asleep on the couch, the words "wirklich schwul" (really gay) scrawled across his face. "Germany!" Italy smiled at his friend, then realized that he might wake him up. "Oops," he whispered. "Dispiaciuto. Sorry." He looked around, not quite sure what to do, since he was almost never the first one up. "Um, I guess I'll cook Germany some breakfast!" He kissed the top of Germany's head and skipped off toward the kitchen, smiling widely when he remembered the weird dream he'd had last night…

_Well, that was my attempt at Fluff. Happy Valentine's Day everybody! Hope you have fun. Love ya!_

_And for the record, I looked it up, and sexomnia is a real thing. Pretty much the same as sleepwalking, except you also do sexual things. Scary, huh? Five bucks says France has that._


	6. Concussion I

Germany paced the gray linoleum hallway of the hospital, back and forth, trying to calm himself with deep breaths. His face was about the same color as the white walls, or as his brother's hair, who was watching him pace back and forth from against the wall with a combination of agitation and worry. Germany would look up whenever he heard even the slightest sound, his eyes fixed on the door he kept passing. Then he'd shut his eyes, still quickly pacing, beginning to rub his temples.

"West," Prussia said, after his brother had passed by about twelve times. "West, you can sit down you know. Pacing isn't going to do anything." There was no answer as Germany passed him again, forcing himself to breathe evenly. "West, seriously, you're freaking me out a little bit," Prussia said louder. Germany still didn't answer, passing by once more. "Come on West, just sit the hell down. You're gonna make me puke."

The door opened. Suddenly Germany froze and sprinted to the doctor walking out. "Doctor, doctor, is he alright, is he even conscious, if he is how is he feeling, if he isn't why hasn't he woken up, is he going to recover, is he going to die, mein gott, PLEASE TELL ME HE'S NOT GOING TO DIE!" By this time, he was shaking the poor, terrified doctor by the shoulders and shouting at the top of his lungs.

Prussia stood up and calmly pushed his brother away from the doctor. "Sorry about that," he said, scowling at Germany. "My brother is a schwachkopf. So how is Ita—Feliciano doing," he amended at the last second, realizing he'd probably get a pretty weird look if he called him 'Italy'. "Is he ok?"

The doctor glanced nervously from Prussia to Germany. "Err, w-well h-he's, um, Mr.…" he began to stammer and looked down at his clipboard, "M-Mr. Vargas is, well…h-he has a mild concussion…other than that, he appears alright, but with head trauma you can never really be completely sure until he wakes up." He looked back up nervously. "How exactly did this happen again?"

"Yes, _Ludwig_," Prussia muttered slowly, turning toward the blond with a suspicious look, "how _did _our good friend Feliciano get a concussion?"

Germany swallowed slightly.

_Flashback mode:_

"_Ve~ Germany, what's this thingy do?"_

"_Italy, put that rocket launcher down!"_

"_Ok, what does this button—?"_

_**BOOM**_

"He tripped," Germany muttered, suddenly very interested in his shoes.

Prussia sighed. "Right, sure," he muttered, obviously not believing him. He turned back toward the doctor. "So we're allowed to go and check up on him then, right?"

The doctor frowned. "Well, I'm really not supposed to allow nonfamily members into the room—"

"_So we're allowed to go and check up on him, __**right**__?" _Germany growled slowly through clenched teeth, glaring threateningly from next to his brother.

The doctor made some sort of a squeak and nodded quickly before sprinting away.

Prussia laughed a little. "Scheisse, West, I think that guy almost wet himself." Germany ignored him and slipped into the room, Prussia close behind him.

Italy was sound asleep in the bed on the other side of the room, his forehead wrapped tightly in bandages. Next to him were a heart monitor and an IV. Germany clenched his teeth, a wave of guilt washing over him like a tsunami. He walked over and stared down at his friend. "When do you think he'll wake up?" He asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Prussia shrugged, sitting himself down on a nearby chair. "Just put some pasta on his bedside table," he replied. "I'm sure he'll wake up and devour it within seconds."

Germany nodded and ran out of the room. He came back a while later with a large steaming bowl of pasta. He walked over and bent down next to Italy's bed. "Hey Italy," he said softly. "Italy, wake up." Italy didn't so much as move. "Italy," he pressed again, "look, I bought you some pasta." Italy still didn't wake up. Germany held the pasta under Italy's nose. "Come on, Italy, you love pasta," he said desperately, shaking Italy's arm with his free hand. "Italy," he tried again. He was met with a long silence, the beeping of the heart monitor the only sound.

"F*** IT, YOU IDIOTIC LITTLE SCHWEINEHUND, JUST WAKE UP AND EAT THE DAMN PASTA!"

Prussia jumped up and dragged his brother backwards, who'd been attempting to shove the pasta down Italy's throat while shaking him violently. "He's unconscious you moron!" He yelled. "Are you _trying _to kill him?" Germany just glared at him. Prussia rolled his eyes and shoved him onto the chair. "For god's sake, calm down. I'm sure he'll be awake by tomorrow."

Germany looked over at Italy. "Right. Sure."

"Don't worry, West. Your awesome bruder knows what he's talking about."

Germany sighed and leaned back.

(The next day)

"…"

"…"

"…he's not waking up."

"Well, yeah, I can see that, West."

"…"

"…"

"Is he going to wake up, you think?"

"Yeah, of course he will! Come on, West, has your amazingly awesome older bruder ever been wrong before?"

"…"

"…ok, don't answer that…"

"…"

"Hey, West, you ever seen Sleeping Beauty?"

*smack*

(The day after that)

"Damn it, you f***ing potato bastard, what the hell did you do to my fratello?"

"Guten Morgen, Romano."

"Shut up! What the hell did you do to him? Wait, have you been here all night? DID YOU VIOLATE MY BROTHER WHILE HE WAS ASLEEP? YOU SICK BASTARD!"

"Romano, put that pocket knife away! We're in a hospital!"

(…and the day after that…)

"Ohayō. Is Italy-kun awake?"

"No."

"Oh."

"…"

"…"

"…Hey, Germany-san, have you ever seen Sleeping Beauty?"

"…"

(…eventually…)

Germany sat in a chair, staring blankly ahead. He had dark circles under his dull blue eyes, likely since he hadn't really slept properly for at least four days. He also hadn't left the hospital in that time. There had been a few security guard there to try and make him leave, but…well…I'll skip the gruesome details and leave it at 'that didn't work'.

Prussia strode in, with some hospital food and a cup of coffee, both of which he hated, but he could find anything better to eat. Gilbird sat on his head, looking as exhausted as Prussia. "West," he mumbled sleepily, "can we go home? He's not going to drop dead the moment we leave." He sat down. "Come on, I'm sick of eating…" he trailed off, sending a disgusted look toward the food on his lap, "…this…" he finished. Germany didn't hear him. Prussia snapped his fingers in Germany's face a few times. "West!"

"I didn't do it!" Germany yelped, snapping out of whatever he'd been thinking about. "The handcuffs are possessed!"

Prussia sighed, too tired to try and decipher that statement. "Um, sure." He watched his brother for a few minutes, noting how pale he was. He was as pale as…well…Prussia. After about a minute, Prussia reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. "Hey West, you need to go outside. Go buy me a beer or something." Germany glanced sleepily up at him. Prussia smiled. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him. Just go…go get sunlight or something…" He patted his brother's shoulder.

Germany nodded sleepily. "I'll go buy a beer," he replied. He got up and slowly walked out.

Prussia sat there for a while. He started drumming his fingers idly against the chair. He tried a bite of the stale food then gagged slightly. For some reason, he thought of England.

He glanced over at Italy, who hadn't moved at all since he'd been there. He hoped the little guy would be alright…he took a sip of coffee, coughed, and suddenly felt an intense urge to kill America.

"…unnh…"

Prussia froze, coffee still clutched in his hand. He looked up, his eyes the size of large red dinner plates. W…Was that…?

Italy shifted slightly, opening one eye a crack, then flinched and shut it again. "…oww…" he groaned slightly. Then he sat up, forcing his eyes open, oblivious to the Prussian now gaping at him. "What the…?" He mumbled dizzily, blinking.

Prussia began to smile. Italy was awake! Sure, Germany was going to strangle Prussia within an inch of his life for somehow managing to make him leave right before Italy woke up, but who the hell cared! Italy was awake!

Italy looked around, finally noticing Prussia staring at him from the nearby chair. "Um…guten tag," he said.

Prussia smiled even wider, laughing slightly. He always thought it was so…cute…? Funny…? …well, he just loved it when Italy tried to say something in German. Hell, he even got it right that time.

"Bonjurno," Prussia replied, not caring that he was saying it wrong. "How're you feeling?"

Italy gave him a blank stare.

…wait…stare? Prussia blinked a few times. Italy was staring at him. Italy was staring at him…and his eyes were open. Only halfway, but still, Prussia didn't even realize they could open. Weird…

"Where am I?" Italy asked groggily.

"You're in the hospital," Prussia replied, putting his coffee down on the chair next to him. "You've been unconscious for four days. You had a concussion. Personally, I think West did something, but whatever. I think Romano kicked his ass enough though, so I won't have to later."

"What…?" Italy mumbled, looking even more confused. "What are you talking about?"

Prussia laughed again. They way Italy was mumbling, he kind of sounded like he had a German accent. "Well, it doesn't matter. You're awake, so that's that." He shrugged and turned to grab his coffe again.

Italy sighed. "Um, ok," he replied. He glanced around, flinching when the light hit his eyes. "Ugh," he muttered. "Mein gott, my head hurts."

Prussia paused, looking over toward Italy. He stared at him for a moment. "Um…you can, uh, stop doing that now…" he said slowly.

"Doing what?" Italy asked.

"Um, well, talking in German," Prussia replied, suddenly feeling uneasy. "You can, um, stop now."

Italy blinked a few times. "What the hell are you talking about?" He asked blankly. Then he flinched again, grabbing his head. "Scheisse," he muttered. "Hey bruder, you have any beer on you? Or wurst or something?"

Prussia blinked a few times. Oh…shit…

"H-Hey, uh, l-listen…" Prussia stammered slowly, wide eyed, "I-I was…um…w…what's your…your full name? I just want to make sure…that you're ok s-since you have a concussion and all…"

Italy rolled his eyes. "Um, alright, I guess. My full name is the Federal Republic of Germany."

There was a long silence.

"What?" Italy asked, looking confused again.

Prussia just stared.

Oh. Shit.


	7. Concussion II

Prussia and Italy stared blankly at each other for a few more minutes, a look of pure horror frozen on Prussia's face. Finally, Italy asked slowly, "Is something wrong, bruder...?"

Before he could answer, the door opened. Prussia and Italy both turned, startled. "Hey Prussia, I managed to buy a couple of—" Germany froze when he saw a pair of amber eyes staring at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but ended up just gaping, as the beers he was holding slipped out of his hands and clattered loudly to the floor. Finally, Germany ran over and grabbed Italy's shoulders.

"Italy! You're awake!" He said, smiling for once in his life. "How're you feeling?" Italy just stared blankly at him, looking stunned. Germany frowned at him. "You really need to be more careful next time I bring weapons for training. But at least you're awake. Here, if you want I can go and buy you some pa—"

There was a loud crash as Italy kicked Germany into the door. "…sta…?" Germany finished weakly, collapsing to the ground.

"W-What the hell is this?" Italy yelled, looking frantically from Prussia to the sore German man on the floor. "What the hell is this?" He yelled louder.

Prussia grabbed Italy's shoulder tentatively. "Okay, Italy, you need to calm—"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Italy yelled even louder, swatting Prussia's arm away angrily. "Who the hell is that? What the hell is going on? Why the _hell_ do you keep calling me Italy?"

Germany sat up, wincing slightly. "Italy, what the hell are you talking about?"

"What am _I_ talking about? What the hell are _you _talking about?" Italy had yanked off all the wires that had been attached to his arms by that point, and stood up. "I'm not Italy! I'm Germany!" At that statement, Germany froze. "How the hell could I even be Italy?" Italy continued. "I look nothing like him! I don't even have his hair curl or—" As he shouted he reached up, and his hand accidentally clamped around his curl.

There was a long awkward pause. Then Italy stumbled backward, letting loose a long stream of Germany profanities, most of which Prussia hadn't even heard before, and falling backwards over his bed.

Germany stared at the cursing Italian for a moment. Then he turned toward his brother, wide-eyed. "What the hell did you do to him?" He yelled accusingly.

"Why the hell is this automatically my fault?" Prussia complained. "He just woke up and started talking in German. I didn't do anything."

Germany sighed and dragged Italy to his feet. "Are you okay Italy?" He asked.

Italy just sat there, looking confused. "I… This can't be real," he stated, running his fingers through his hair the way Germany would sometimes do when he was nervous. "I…I can't be Italy." He sat down on his bed, brows furrowed in one of the most un-Italy-like expressions Germany had ever seen. "Well…I suppose it could be possible, if I had a severe enough concussion, to take on someone else's personality, but…" He started rubbing his temples. "Mein gott…I need a beer."

Prussia gave a nervous laugh. "Jeez, he's got you down pat, West," he said, elbowing Germany's side. Germany wasn't able to respond because he was staring at Italy.

Italy frowned. "Well, there has to be a way to get me back to normal," he decided. He ran his hand through his hair again, wincing slightly as he brushed against the large lump on the side of his head. "Hey…uh…Germany…" He said, looking slightly uncomfortable saying his name, "…how did I get a concussion?"

Germany coughed nervously and mumbled something about tripping. Italy laughed slightly. "Yeah, that does seem like something Italy could—" he flinched, "I-I mean, something _I _could… Scheisse, this is confusing," he finished, slumping backwards. He shut his eyes.

Prussia stood up. "I got an awesome idea. Maybe if you do something to jog his memory," he said with a grin. "Here, I'll go grab the handcuffs!"

"WHAT THE F*** IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?" Germany and Italy shouted simultaneously.

Prussia blinked a few times, looking startled, partially because Italy had swore at him. "What?" He asked. "Haven't the two of you…you know…?"

"No we have not," Germany growled at him, turning red.

"Who the hell told you that we did?" Italy hissed too.

Prussia shrugged. "Hungary. Who else?"

Italy and Germany both groaned. Then Germany flinched slightly and looked up at Italy. He really preferred the way Italy usually acted, always smiling and giggling and laughing… Then an idea hit him. "Hey, maybe Prussia has a point!"

There was a loud crash as Italy scrambled backwards against the wall. "I'm not having sex with you," he growled, holding up a white flag threateningly.

Germany turned bright red. "N-Nein, that's not what I meant," he stammered looking horrified. "I-I was referring to the idea of jogging your memories."

"...o-oh…" Italy turned red too, sitting back down on the bed. "R-Right. Yes. Of course. Natürlich." He scratched the bad of his neck. "I-I knew that." He took a calming breath. "So how do we do that?"

"Well maybe if you just _tried _the handcuffs—"

Germany smacked Prussia. "No." He turned back toward Italy. "Try speaking in Italian."

Italy nodded. "Right." He shut his eyes, trying to think. "Um…Ciao. Mi chiamo Italia. Uh...cuanto costa… spaghetti… tedesco… pizza... taco… mi arrendo," he finished lamely, realizing he had absolutely no idea what he just said.

(Translation: Hello. My name is Italy. Um…how much does it cost… spaghetti… German… pizza… taco… I surrender.)

Germany sighed. "Alright, that didn't work…" he muttered.

"I still stand by the handcuff idea…"

The door burst open. "He's awake!" Someone said loudly. "Why the hell didn't you tell me, you potato bastard?"

"S-Shit," Germany stammered, jumping to his feet. "Romano—!"

Romano elbowed past him, and ran over to his brother, not noticing that all the blood had drained from his face. "Veneziano!" He said. "Did that potato bastard do anything to you? N-Not that I care or anything," he added quickly, glancing away.

Italy swallowed nervously, trying desperately to remember how to say brother in Italian. "O-Oh, h-hey there…fr…fratren…fratrencida…" he stammered.

Romano gave him a confused look. "Huh?"

There was a long pause. Prussia leaned over toward Italy. "Um, I'm not all that good at Italian, but I think you just called him 'fratricide'."

Italy flinched. "Err, I-I mean, uh…fratta…um...fratta…"

"Stop calling me a freaking bush, idiota," Romano muttered darkly, looking annoyed. Then he cocked his head. "Hey… Your eyes are open," he said slowly.

Italy stiffened. "Oh, yes, well…I, uh, I was just…" He shut his eyes tightly. "No they're not. Gucken—err, look…"

Romano blinked. "Did you just say something in German? You're acting weird." He turned toward Germany. "What the hell is wrong with him, damn it?" He shouted loudly. "Why is he acting so weird? DID YOU GIVE HIM SOME SORT OF F***ED UP GERMAN STD?"

Spain stumbled through the door. "It's all right, Romano, I can find my way here by myself. No need to help me," he panted weakly.

"Shut up, Spain!" Romano snapped. "And fix my fratello, you sick, wurst-sucking potato bastard!" With that, he chucked a tomato at Germany's face.

("Right, it was fretallo," Italy mumbled to himself.)

"I didn't do anything!" Germany protested, wiping the tomato off. "He has a concussion."

(…one explanation later…)

Romano just looked at Germany skeptically. "So, you're telling me he hit his head and now he thinks he's you?" He asked. Then he turned and started walking toward the door. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Spain!" He turned and grabbed the back of Spain's shirt. "Come here." He half dragged half pulled Spain out the door, and came back a few minutes later with…

"Pasta!" Germany said, face-palming. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"It is kind of obvious, now that you think about it," Prussia agreed.

Romano sighed. "You didn't think of it because you two are idiotas," he muttered. He walked over and put the large steaming bowl of pasta on Italy's lap. "Alright, eat."

There was a long awkward silence. Finally, Italy said, "I'm not really that hungry."

Romano stared at him, shocked. "Y…You're not…?" After a few seconds, he grabbed Italy shoulders and started shaking him. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE NOT HUNGRY DAMN IT YOU'RE ALWAYS HUNGRY I DON'T WANT A FRATELLO THAT THINKS HE'S THAT STUPID POTATO BASTARD SNAP OUT OF IT DAMN IT SNAP OUT OF IT AAGGGGGHHHH!"

Spain pulled Romano off. "Calm down, Romano, I have an idea." He placed a tomato on Italy's head. Italy looked nervously up at it. After a minute, Spain frowned, inspecting Italy closely. "Ok, that didn't work."

Prussia looked at him. "And what exactly was that supposed to accomplish?"

Spain shrugged.

Italy frowned. "I feel as though you are going about this all wrong," he decided, pulling out his cell phone. "Maybe some else has an idea. I think I remember hearing China talking about hypnosis—" He froze, looking at the wallpaper of his phone. "…What the hell…?" He turned the phone toward Germany. "Do you remember taking this?"

Germany looked at the photo, looking confused. "Um… Nein."

Prussia laughed. "Oh yeah, I remember—"

Germany and Italy both glared at him. Prussia coughed nervously. "Um…nothing. Never mind."

Italy rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. Then he started dialing a number.

Several minutes later, the hospital room was crowded full of loud Nations, all worried, and all shouting different ideas on how to fix Italy.

"Perhaps he should drink some vodka, da?"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! Give him some cheeseburgers! Cheeseburgers can fix anything!"

"Maybe if I could have some time along with him…"

"No one is letting you in here alone to molest Italy, you bloody frog!"

"Spain! Hand me another tomato, damn it! I think it's working!"

"Um, Romano, I love tomatoes too, but I don't think that this is doing anything."

"Aiya! Romano, Spain, what are you doing? Pounding tomatoes into his ears won't fix anything, aru! I might have some sort of herbal remedy though…"

"Why don't you two try handcuffs!"

"Sorry, Hungary, I already tried to suggest that."

"Maybe some soothing piano music will help…"

"Does this mean he'll stop streaking through my lawn? Hell, keep him this way!"

Germany sat in the corner, taking deep breaths, trying to keep from snapping. He rubbed his temples. After another minute, though, he decided to step in.

But before he could say anything, Italy was on his feet. "ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!" He roared. The room immediately went silent, all staring at him, stunned. "We're never going to accomplish anything if you all are just shouting at once! If you actually have some sort of relevant comment to make, make it in some sort of organized manner. If not, then just keep your mouth shut!"

There was a long pause. Then Italy remembered that he was Italy, not Germany. "Oh. I…I mean, um… veh," he mumbled unconvincingly, sitting back down.

Germany stared at him for a few more seconds. Then he turned. "Um… All right, you heard him. Get into some sort of organized line or something." He folded his arms. "We're going to figure this out."

* * *

_Here's an early birthday gift. To myself. Err...yay. I think I'm almost finished with this._

_Um, if you had trouble figuring out the people talking earlier it goes as follows: Russia, America, France, England, Romano, Spain, China, Hungary, Prussia, Austria, and Switzerland._


	8. Concussion III

Germany folded his arms as the rest of the Nations started quickly getting into a line. "Alright, everyone just get into a line and tell me your ideas." He paused. "Uh, France, get to the back of the line," he said quickly, noticing the evil look on France's face. "And you too, Russia," he added, noting Russia's pipe.

Soon the group had somehow managed to stand in a line. Germany sighed in relief when he saw who was at the front. "Oh, good, Japan. You've been quiet. Do you have any ideas?"

Japan nodded slowly. "Yes, I have an idea…"

**Japan's Idea**

"Japan, could you explain what this plan is?" Italy asked nervously as he followed Germany and Japan into the parking lot half an hour later. The other Nations had crowded into the parking lot, all chattering anxiously. They went silent as the three walked outside.

Japan and Germany exchanged looks. Then Japan looked over his shoulder toward Italy. "You'll find out in a minute, Italy-kun," he said, an odd look in his eye.

The three of them walked over to a bright red Italian sports car, a Ferrari, parked in the middle of the parking lot. Italy looked at it for a few seconds. Germany turned toward Italy. "Are you feeling…Italian again…?" He asked. Italy thought for a second, and then shook his head. Germany sighed and opened the door. "Alright, get in."

Italy climbed into the seat and looked around. There wasn't a seatbelt to put on, so Italy just leaned back slightly, taking in the feel of the car. Italian cars really were neat…though he did prefer German cars better—no, wait. Damn it. Italy sighed, turning toward Germany. "It's no good. I still think I'm you." Germany didn't answer, but his face suddenly had the same expression of someone who was mourning the loss of a dear friend. Italy frowned. "Wie? What?" He asked. He glanced around. "Is something wrong?" Then he noticed something odd. "Hey, shouldn't I be sitting in the driver's seat?"

Germany grabbed a seatbelt that Japan had given him earlier and wrapped it tightly around Italy's arms and torso. Italy stiffened and looked down. "What are you doing?" He asked, confused. "Italy doesn't—I mean I don't usually use seatbelts…do I…? And anyway, you wrapped it so I can't move."

The other door opened and closed. Italy stiffened and turned.

"Hey there, Veneziano," Romano said, a twisted grin on his face, grabbing the wheel and turning the key. "Whether or not you turn back to normal, I'm going to enjoy this."

Italy stared at him for a moment, suddenly feeling sick. Then he turned back toward Germany. "Veh, suddenly I feel like Italy again!" He lied quickly. "I-I feel back to normal now. I want to eat pasta. You can untie me now!" He started struggling.

Japan turned toward Romano and nodded. Romano smashed his foot onto the gas and sped off, laughing maniacally.

…

Italy sat on his hospital bed half an hour later, glaring up at Germany and Japan, unable to do anything more than mouth, "I hate you."

Japan and Germany looked at Romano. "So is Italy-kun normal again?" Japan asked.

Romano shook his head. "Nah. But that was still fun as hell."

Germany sighed.

**America's Idea**

Italy sat on his bed, disdainfully eyeing the large greasy hamburger he was holding. "And, um, what exactly is this thing going to accomplish?" He asked.

America grinned. "Come on, Italy, hamburgers can fix anything!" He said, sitting down. "Just take a bite!"

Italy still stared at the burger. "Um, I feel like if I eat this I'm going to immediately go into cardiac arrest," he stated nervously.

America sighed, looking slightly annoyed. "That's what the defibrillators are for," he said, motioning toward Germany, who'd grabbed a defibrillator earlier. "Come on, just take a bite! The hero knows what he's doing."

Italy still stared at it. Finally, he said, "Hey America, did you know that hamburgers were technically invented in the German city of Hamburg?"

There was a long uncomfortable silence. Then America abruptly stood up. "Well, Italy, thank you for CRUSHING ALL OF MY _HOPES AND DREAMS!" _He screamed, then stormed out of the room.

Italy watched him go. "So do I still need to eat this…?" Everyone shook their heads quickly.

**France's Idea**

France strode over. "Alright, now first we need to tie him down—"

"I told you to get to the back of the line," Germany snapped angrily. "And put your clothes back on!"

**China's Idea**

"You are getting very sleepy…aru…"

Italy sighed. "This is never going to work," he muttered, swatting the old battered yo-yo away from his face. "This is ridiculous."

China frowned. "Well of course it won't if you keep saying that!" He chided. "And stop distracting me, I need to concentrate, aru." He started swinging the yo-yo again. "Now, focus on the yo-yo and the sound of my voice…aru…"

Italy focused on the yo-yo. After a few seconds, he asked, "Where did you get this? It has a maple leaf on it."

"I don't know where I got it! It won't work if you don't relax aru."

(Nearby, Canada sighed.)

Italy stared at the yo-yo again. After almost a minute, his eyes started feeling heavy. He blinked a few times, trying to stay awake. Then his head slumped forward.

Germany stared at him. "Wow, it actually worked," he commented. "I didn't think it would…"

China nodded. "Unfortunately, I'm not all that good at this part…hopefully I can get him back to normal aru." He tucked the yo-yo in his pocket. "Sometimes, they start clucking or doing something I didn't say…maybe it'll work better if I speak Chinese aru." He cleared his throat and started speaking in Chinese. After a minute of that, Italy sat up, blinking sleepily. China took a deep breath, hoping he did it right.

Germany nervously grabbed Italy's shoulder. "Italy, how are you feeling?"

Italy jumped up on the bed and started singing loudly, "_And I was like_ _Baby baby baby, ooh~! Baby baby baby noo~! Baby baby baby ooh~! I thought that you'd always be mine! Mine~!"_

"MAKE IT STOP!"

**Prussia's (Awesome) Idea**

Germany stared blankly at the belt his brother had just handed him. "Um…what…?"

Prussia rolled his eyes. "For god's sake, do I need to spell it out for you?" He grabbed the belt and held it in front of Germany's face. "Hit. Italy. In. The. Ass. With. The. Belt."

Germany took the belt. "Um, well, ja, I guess that might work…I think…" he muttered. Then he turned and walked over to Italy. "Hey, Italy…" he said slowly. "Um, stand up for a second."

Italy got to his feet. "Ja, sure. So has anyone come up with a new idea to—?"

**CRACK**

Italy yelped and stumbled backward, grabbing where Germany had hit him. "Verdammt! What the hell—?"

"It didn't work," Germany told Prussia.

Prussia shrugged. "Try again."

**CRACK**

Italy took a step backward. "What the hell are you doing?"

Germany frowned. "Still doesn't seem to be working," he told his brother, who now had an evil gleam in his eyes.

"Try hitting him harder!"

**CRACK**

Italy jumped backward, narrowly missing the belt. "What the hell are you—?" **CRACK **"—Will you stop—!" **CRACK **"—I swear to god—!" **CRACK **"—Scheisse, you son of a—!" **CRACK—**

Italy grabbed the belt in mid air and yanked it out of Germany's hand. "Arschloch, what the hell are you doing!" He yelled, whipping the belt at the two Germans.

**CRACK**

Germany and Prussia scrambled backward. "Retreat! Retreat!"

**Germany's Idea**

"Let's face it, I'm never getting back to normal," Italy mumbled after several more painful and ineffective ideas. "I'm just going to be stuck this way forever."

Prussia patted him on the shoulder. "Don't keep saying that! You gotta look on the bright side! That's what you would normally—" Italy shot him a glare. "—I mean, just stop being so pessimistic." He paused for a second. "Also, if it does turn out you're stuck this way forever, should I call you 'West Italy'?"

"That is quite possibly the most stupid and insipid comment I have ever heard," Italy replied dryly.

Prussia frowned. "Jeez. Just making suggestions," he muttered, pouting slightly.

Germany sighed as he watched the two of them. It would probably be more productive to think positively, but what if Italy was right? What if he was stuck this way forever? He tried to imagine it. Italy acting like him…Italy working like him…Italy never smiling again, or dancing or laughing or obsessing over pasta or doing something fun and stupid with him again…

Italy seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he seemed even more unhappy. "Scheisse," he cursed softly, taking out his phone and inspecting his reflection. He inspected his bangs for a few seconds. Then he accidentally tugged slightly on his curl, then flinched, folded his hands together, and sighed.

"Ve~"

Germany stiffened and looked up. At the moment, Italy had turned to look out the window, still looking quite un-Italy-like. Germany turned toward Prussia. "Did he just…?" Was all he managed to say.

Prussia glowered up at him. "Did he just what? I wasn't really paying attention…"

Germany scowled and turned back toward Italy. "Do that again!"

Italy looked up. "Do what again?" He asked, looking confused. "Pull the hair curl?"

"Nein, I meant—" Then he froze. An odd thought had crossed his mind. He stared at Italy for a long time, his gaze fixed on the loopy hair curl protruding precariously from the side of his head.

Italy blinked. "Um, are you alright?" When he didn't answer, Italy frowned. "Did you think of something?"

Germany stared at him a bit longer, looking slightly distressed. Then he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "Italy, I'm just going to apologize in advance for this…"

"What are you talking—?"

Germany grabbed the hair curl and yanked.

Italy yelped. "Ack! W-What the hell are you—?" Germany grimaced and pulled a little harder, and Italy switched to something between a moan and a "Ve~"

Nearby, Japan and Hungary had nosebleeds.

After a few moments, Romano and France both grabbed Germany and yanked him backwards, Romano swearing uncontrollably and France yelling something that Germany could only assume meant, "You son of a bitch that's my job!"

Romano started strangling Germany, screaming, "WHAT THE (censor) DO YOU THINK YOU'RE (censor) DOING TO MY BROTHER YOU (censor censor censor censor) I OUGHT TO (censor censor censor censor censor censor censor) AND SHOVE MY (censor censor) RIGHT UP YOUR—!"

"Ve~ where am I…?"

Romano and Germany both froze. Then Germany stood up (knocking Romano off in the process) and ran over to Italy. "Italy! Are you feeling alright?"

Italy looked up at him, eyes closed the way they usually were, and answered, "No. I'm hungry. Can I have some pasta?"

Germany smiled at him. "Of course," he replied, feeling relieved. He helped Italy to his feet. "I'm, uh, sorry about your hair…"

Ve~ what do you mean?" Italy asked groggily.

Germany gave a relieved sigh. "Never mind, it's nothing," he said quickly. "Now come on, let's go get some pasta—"

Russia smashed his pipe against Italy's head. Germany yelped as Italy fell to the floor. "Russia!" He screamed. "Why the hell did you do that?"

"I didn't get to try my idea. Kol kol kol."

Germany glared at him and bent down quickly. "I-Italy! Are you okay?"

Italy sat up. "Of course I'm ok!" He answered dizzily. "I'm the hero!"

Germany blinked a few times. Then he stood up. "Well, I'm going home…"

**Russia's Idea**

"Kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol kol..."

* * *

_Uploading this at the last possible second. This is the last in this story. Don't ask what happens next..._

_I'll probably edit this later. Hope you like it though._


	9. Hansel and Gretel

_I think I mentioned in an earlier chapter that I take Spanish lessons. What I didn't mention is that my Spanish teacher also speaks fluent German. So when she gets mad at us, she starts shouting at us in German, because, according to her, "German is an angry language." So one time, she started shouting something at us in Germany, and began yelling about the story of Hansel and Gretel at us._

_And somehow, this is what popped into my head..._

* * *

"Ve~ Germany! Germany! I wanna go eat some pasta! Let's go out and get some pasta! Or pizza! We could go buy a pizza! Yeah! Let's go eat a pizza! Or we could eat a pizza and some pasta! We could eat them at the same time! Oh, then maybe we could go visit Romano! Or Spain! Or maybe big brother France! Or maybe we could visit all three of them at the same time and eat gelato and pasta and pizza and we could invite Japan too and Greece and America and all of our other friends and Prussia could come too! And we could eat a bunch of pasta, with alfredo sauce or meat sauce! Prussia! Prussia! You wanna go eat pasta with me and Germany and Spain and France and Romano?"

Prussia, who was watching German soap operas on the floor with Gilbird, glanced up sleepily. Italy was sitting on the couch nearby, bouncing up and down and still talking about something even though by this point no one was really listening to him. Next to him on the couch, Germany was silently contemplating the most painful was to kill the hyped-up Italian.

"So you wanna come with us, Prussia? Do you?"

Prussia blinked a few times, realizing he was being addresses. "Um, it's almost midnight. I don't think there are too many places that'll be selling any food that doesn't taste like crap at the moment," he mumbled sleepily. "And anyway, aren't you and West planning on going to bed soon…?"

Italy frowned. "But I'm not sleepy."

Germany grabbed the remote and started banging it against his head, somehow changing the channel a few times until the batteries went flying and the TV channel came to rest on a porno. Prussia quickly turned it off before Italy could understand what was happening onscreen.

Prussia laughed slightly as he sat back down. "Why is it that you're usually sleepy when West wants you awake, but when he actually wants to go to bed…"

"Ve~ Germany can go to bed first," Italy decided after a moment. "I don't mind."

Germany sighed unhappily. He had learned a while ago that it was when he went to sleep first that Italy would sleep in his bed naked. And he really did not want that…

Germany leaned back and thought for a moment, trying to think of a way to get the idiot to go to bed. He had a few options. One, he could drug him. No, that seemed kind of…France… Two, he could knock him out. No, he didn't want to risk any more brain trauma… He thought harder. How did Prussia manage to get Germany to sleep when he was younger?

"_Hey bruder," a very young Germany mumbled sleepily, walking up to his brother._

_Prussia looked up from his things and grinned at the little blond. "Oh, hey there, West! Can't you sleep?" Germany shook his head, looking unhappy. Prussia thought for a moment. "Well, how 'bout I tell you a bedtime story!"_

A…bedtime story? Germany frowned slightly. That seemed pretty childish. _Then again, _he thought, glancing over at his Italian friend,_ it is Italy. What do I have to lose?_

"Hey Italy, you want to hear a bedtime story?" He asked.

He heard Prussia snicker slightly, but Italy smiled. "Ve~ that sounds fun!" He turned on the couch so he was turned toward Germany, sitting cross-legged. He looked completely enraptured even though Germany hadn't even started talking.

"Err…" Germany trailed off, slightly startled by Italy's reaction. Then he realized that he didn't actually have a story to tell. "Err, once upon a time…there was…um…" An idea came to him. "Once upon a time there were two small children named Hansel and Gretel." He couldn't help but smile slightly at the excited, childish look that lit up Italy's face." Now, these two children were very poor, and lived with their father and step-mother in the woods. One day—"

"What did they look like?" Italy asked.

Germany blinked. "What?"

Italy smiled. "What did Hansel and Gretel look like?" He asked.

Germany tried to think. That usually wasn't a question that someone asked in the middle of a story. And more than that, there really wasn't a description on what the two children looked like. "Um, well they were…I guess they…uh…"

"Ooh, I bet Hansel looked like you!" Italy declared happily, giving Germany a hug.

Germany coughed a bit, blushing slightly. "Um, ja, sure. Hansel looked like me. Just like me…" Italy was smiling brightly, obviously waiting for Gretel's description. "Err, and Gretel was…well... she was very pretty…um…she…uh..."

He paused when he heard his brother laughing uncontrollably on the ground, trying to stifle his laugher with his fist. Germany glared at him for interrupting. He was about to yell at him when he thought of a better idea.

"Well you see, Italy, Gretel was a very odd-looking girl," he began slowly. "She had short, white-blond hair and red eyes…" he couldn't help but smirk slightly when he saw Prussia stiffen, "and she had a small yellow bird perched on the top of her head."

Italy giggled. "Ve~, that sounds just like Prussia!"

Prussia turned around. "West, what the hell!" Germany just smirked at him and Prussia started pouting.

Germany turned back toward Italy and continued. "So Hansel and Gretel lived in the woods with their kindly father and their evil step-mother—"

"—Germania!" Prussia interrupted.

Germany glared at Prussia, who'd begun to laugh. "Come on, West, if you can screw up the story, so can I. Kesesesese…" He leaned back. "So Hansel and Gretel lived with their evil step-mother Germania, who wanted to kick the two out of the house because Gretel was just too awesome—"

"She wanted them out because Gretel was the most obnoxious idiot ever born—" Germany interrupted, annoyed.

"—because Hansel was a fat-ass—"

"—because Gretel was an egotistic little son of a—"

"—because she found Hansel's porn stash under the bed!" Prussia finished loudly. Germany blushed, grabbed the nearby remote, and started trying to hit him. Prussia jumped up and started hitting him back.

"Ve~ so then what happened?"

The two Germans froze and looked up at Italy, who somehow didn't seem to understand what they were fighting about. He just continued to look happy and excited. Prussia was the first to continue with the story.

"Right, so anyway, the evil step-mother tricked the kids out of the house because of Gretel's awesomeness and Hansel's porn, and were supposed to get lost in the forest. Now, Gretel, who was the older, smarter, and of course, awesomer of the two children, came up with the awesome idea to use bread crumbs to find their way back to the house." He smirked at Germany. "You can go ahead and thank me, Hansel."

Germany started massaging his temples. "First off, I was—Hansel," he quickly amended, "was the one who came up with the bread-crumb idea. And it didn't even work. The woodland creatures ate them and they ended up lost in the woods anyway."

"Damn woodland creatures," Prussia muttered bitterly. "Ok, for further reference, the woodland creatures are now played by Austria. So Gretel decides to kill all the Austrian woodland creatures with her awesomeness—"

"Anyway," Germany interrupted angrily, glaring at Prussia who was currently laughing, again, "Hansel and Gretel wandered through the woods, trying desperately to find their way back to their house and their kindly father…um…"

"Germania!"

"Germania can't be the father and the step-mother!" Germany snapped at Prussia.

"Don't argue with my logic, for it is flawless!" Prussia quickly snapped back. "So then the two children found a small cottage in the woods. It was made out of gingerbread and candy and every other delicious sweet you could possibly—"

"Was there gelato there!" Italy shouted, excited.

Prussia blinked. "Um, sure, the moat around the gingerbread house was made out of gelato—"

"What about pasta! Was there pasta there! And pizza! And lasagna!" Italy was bouncing up and down by this point.

Germany rolled his eyes. "Yes, Italy, there was pasta and pizza there, too."

"Can I be there?" Italy asked hopefully, wide-eyed.

Germany threw his hands up in exasperation. "Fine! Italy was in the corner of the g*d damn gingerbread house gorging on the pasta! Any more questions?"

"Yeah, why the hell is Hansel such a dick?" Prussia asked.

"So Hansel and Gretel go into the gingerbread house," Germany pressed on, looking angrier and angrier by the second. "Inside of the house, they met an old woman. She was old and decrepit and evil—"

"—oh, oh, West, make her Hungarian!"

"…_and Hungarian,_" Germany hissed, glaring at Prussia, who was laughing the hardest he'd laughed all night. "So the evil witch lured the children inside with cookies and cake—and pasta," he added when it looked like Italy was about to say something, "and then locked them in a room or something."

"So then the evil Hungarian witch decides she wants to eat Hansel, because he's fat," Prussia said.

"She wanted to eat him because he's more muscular," Germany retorted. "And because she'd probably be throwing up for weeks if she tried to eat Gretel."

"…all over the woodland creatures," Prussia mused quietly. "So anyway the witch takes her frying pan of death and puts Hansel in a cage and shit and starts getting him ready to be eaten in a bowl of pasta or something. But then she decided she couldn't resist Gretel's awesomeness and wants to eat her too. So anyway, Gretel was like, 'no way, bitch,' and kicked the witch into the fire she was making. Then the witch catches fire! Kesesesesesese—!"

"So the witch starts screaming and Gretel frees Hansel and the children find some treasure in her house and take it and leave and go home even though their step-mother is an abusive whore and they all live happily ever after free from cannibalism and woodland creatures _THE END!_" Germany finished as quickly as he could.

Prussia glanced at him. "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," he said. "Gretel's not letting Hansel out of the cage until he admits that Gretel is the most awesome being to ever walk the face of the planet."

Germany glared at him. "Hansel never says that because it's not true in the slightest."

"Well in that case, Gretel leaves Hansel to die in the cage and uses the money she got to hire an assassin to kill her unawesome step-mom and lives happily ever after getting drunk like any other self-respectable German."

"That's the worst story I've ever heard!" Germany shouted angrily.

"The moral is to never stash your porn under the bed."

"Shut up!"

"Why don't you?"

"You stupid—"

Italy's head dropped onto Germany's shoulder. Germany stiffened and turned. Italy, somehow, for some strange, unknown reason, had fallen fast asleep.

"Mein gott," he murmured. "That…that worked…?"

Prussia smirked. "You're very welcome," he answered.

Germany looked at him, then sighed. "I'm going to bed," he muttered, picking Italy up and walking away. "Gute Nacht."

"Gute Nacht, Hansel!" Prussia called, laughing.

"…I hate you…"

* * *

_Wow, I wrote this in less than two hours. But it's taken several weeks to post. Huh. Damn Error Number 2. Well, hope you liked my horribly convoluted daydream as much as I did. See you!_


	10. Italy's House of Horror

_Well, here it is, Rachel. Happy Halloween!_

* * *

America and Japan were walking slowly down the road on a beautiful fall afternoon. The sun had begun to sink in the horizon, casting a hundred colors across the sky above their heads, as leaves began to blow off the trees.

America was grinning widely, the way he always did, swinging his arms back and forth as he walked. "Dude, look at the sunset!" America shouted suddenly, causing Japan to flinch slightly. "That's freaking awesome!" He stared up at the sky, as if he hadn't noticed it before, which likely was the case.

Japan took a deep breath and glanced up at the sky. He couldn't help but smile ever so slightly. "Um, hai, I suppose it looks nice—"

"Yeah it's sweet! Ha, too bad most of that is probably chemical waste. Oh well! So anyway," he continued, not noticing Japan's annoyed look, "it sure was nice of Italy to invite us over for dinner huh? I bet he's gonna make us a ton of food! Man, I love Italian food! I hope he makes that sauce with the cheese and—"

"America-kun, I already told you, you weren't invited," Japan interrupted softly.

"Huh?" America glanced over at him, looking slightly confused.

Japan sighed, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. "I already told you, it's a get together with Italy, Germany and me. Just the old Axis Powers. You…You weren't invited."

America stared at him. "Aw come on, can't I come?" He started begging. "Can't I? Please? Pretty please?" Japan sighed again and continued walking. America pouted. "Well, anyway, I should at least walk you over there and stuff, right? I-I mean, what kind of hero would I be if I didn't walk you home after that scary movie, huh…?"

Japan glanced up at him. America did seem slightly more nervous than usual. He had invited Japan over for the usual scary movie earlier that day. Actually, even Japan thought that the movie was a bit scarier than the usual idiocy he had to sit though. But, of course, Japan wasn't the one who turned into a whimpering mess after every scary movie.

Was that why America was 'walking' him to Italy's house?

After a few more seconds of walking, Japan sighed in defeat. "Err…fine. I suppose you could at least walk me there…" he mumbled weakly.

"You're welcome!" America replied exuberantly. "So come on! Let's go!"

America took off down the road, grinning. Japan blinked, then ran after him. "W-Wait, A-America-kun…!" He called weakly.

…

They got to Italy's house as the sun began sinking down over the horizon. America looked around, laughing nervously. "I-It's gonna get dark soon, huh?" He asked.

Japan sighed yet again. "I guess that I can ask if you could stay for a bit if you really—"

America hugged him. "Thanks, Japan! You're the best!"

Japan pushed him away quickly and knocked gently on the door. They stood there for about a minute. Japan frowned slightly and knocked again. "Italy-kun?" He called softly. "U-Um, Italy-kun, I'm here…"

America laughed at him. "Come on, dude, he'll never hear you like that!" He stepped in front of Japan. "Here, the hero will help! HEY! HEY ITALY!" He shouted as loudly as he could, banging his fist against the door furiously.

The door creaked open.

America and Japan froze. America blinked. "Whoops," he mumbled, glancing sheepishly at Japan. "Must've knocked harder than I thought. Well, uh, hey Italy! Sorry 'bout the door!" He stepped inside. "Hello? Italy? Dude, you here?"

Japan stepped behind him, then paused for a moment. He cast a quick glance toward the door. It didn't seem broken… He sighed and quietly stepped past America. "Italy-kun, I'm sorry that I'm late," he called out. He glanced around. There was no answer. "Italy-kun?" He frowned. "…why is it so dark in—?"

_**SLAM**_

America yelped and grabbed Japan. Japan looked over his shoulder. The door had slammed shut behind him, suddenly submerging them in darkness.

"D-D-Don't worry, Japan…" America whimpered, hugging Japan tightly. "T-The hero will protect you…"

Japan sighed. "Relax, America-kun. The door just must've blown shut." Japan pried America off of him. "I wonder why the light is off. Italy-kun!" He called again. "You forgot to turn on your lights!" He paused again. Usually by now, Italy would've burst in with a smile and some sort of food, shouting something about pasta. Did Japan come on the wrong day? Was Italy even home?

Japan glanced back toward where America was. "America-kun, see if you can find a light switch."

"R-Right, uh, give me a sec," America called. "Uh, right, um, okay…" there was a thud, "jeez, i-it's dark in here…Ah ha! Got it!" He shouted triumphantly. There was a soft click. And another soft click. "U-Uh…crap…"

Japan sighed. "It's not working is it…?"

Suddenly America grabbed Japan's shoulder. "D-Don't worry Japan. The hero will protect you!"

Japan glanced up at him. "Protect me from what exactly…?"

America shrugged. "You know, ghosts or zombies or ax murderers! That's always what's in a haunted house!"

Japan grimaced. "This is Italy-kun's house, not a haunted house," he replied.

America patted his shoulder. "Come on Japan, we're in a dark house, there's no one here, the power's out, the door shut behind us by itself, of course it's a haunted house!" He laughed nervously.

Japan sighed. "I'm sure you're just overreacting—"

There was a loud crash, and the sound of something shattering. America jumped and grabbed onto Japan again. Japan looked around. "What was that?"

"I-It was the axe murderer! I-It must've gotten Italy or something! C-Crap crap crap!" America was practically crushing Japan in his grip, wide-eyed.

Japan sighed and headed toward the sound of the crash, gently pushing America off of him. "Maybe Italy dropped something in the next room. You're just nervous from that movie we watched. Hmm, it sounded like it came from the kitchen…"

America pulled his arm. "D-Dude, what're you doing?" He asked quickly. "Weren't you watching that movie too? It's always the people that head toward the scary noises that get eaten first! W-Why don't we just leave? Come on, dude, we could go home and eat Italian food there."

Japan rolled his eyes and continued walking. "Italy-kun, are you alright?" He called as he walked into the kitchen, America still pulling desperately on his arm. "Italy-kun, are you in here—?"

Suddenly Japan slipped and fell forward. America yelped and pulled up on Japan's arm before he hit the floor. "W-Whoa! H-Holy crap, Japan, are you okay?"

Japan blinked. "W-What on earth?" He stammered, pulling himself to his feet. "What did I just…?" He slowly bent down.

There was a sticky red liquid spread across the floor.

America screamed and grabbed onto Japan. "OH MY GOD!"

Japan frowned. "It's just pasta sauce," he insisted. "Italy-kun just must've spilt it—"

"O-On the walls too?"

Japan glanced up at the walls, which were also spattered red. "E-Err, w-well I mean—"

America screamed again, causing Japan to practically jump out of his skin. He turned toward America. "C-Could you please stop doing that?" Japan asked weakly, trying to force his heart to slow down.

America whimpered and pointed toward the other wall. Japan turned and stiffened. Germany was lying against the wall, unmoving, red stains on his shirt. Japan stared at him, wide eyed.

"Ve~ hi Japan!" Came a happy voice. "You're here!"

Japan turned. Italy stood in the doorway, a big smile on his face. And a stained knife held up in his hand. "How come you were so late? Oh hey, America's here too! Ciao!"

Japan and America blinked. Then they both screamed and sprinted out of the room.

Italy cocked his head. He stood there a moment. "Japan? America? Where are you guys going?" He frowned and looked around. Then he noticed Germany. "Germany! Are you okay?"

Germany groaned slightly. "Next time you need to put things away in your cabinets, let me do it." He reached up and gingerly rubbed his head. "Your damn pot fell off the shelf…and there was still some sort of sauce in it…" He glanced down at the stains on his shirt.

Italy looked up at the broken pot on the ground. "Oops. Sorry Germany!" He looked up. "I wonder where Japan and America went. And I can't find Prussia anywhere either…"

…

America and Japan sat wide-eyed behind a couch in the next room. "Holy shit, Italy finally snapped!" America whispered frantically, trembling uncontrollably. "H-He killed Germany! I knew this day would come!"

Japan swallowed. "I-I'm sure there's some other e-explanation—"

America shook his shoulders frantically. "Dude! H-He f*cking killed Germany!" He hissed back, eyes wide. "H-He's snapped! He's finally snapped! A-And now he's gonna kill us too! O-Oh my god, I'm too young to die!"

Japan shook his head. "America-kun, you need to calm down." He peaked out from over the couch. "P-Perhaps if we talked to him—"

America yanked him down. "A-Are you freaking insane?" America hissed. "Don't you get it? H-He's going to kill us! T-Then he's going to grind up our dead bodies to make pasta sauce and meatballs!"

Japan stared at him, wide eyed. "H-He wouldn't do that…w-would he?" He asked, his voice only coming out as a whisper.

America nodded. "It's just like the movies, Japan! He's gone completely crazy! And he's gonna kill us next!" He peaked out from over the couch cautiously.

Japan swallowed nervously, suddenly starting to feel faint. "U-Um, okay, w-what should we do then? I think I might know another way to the front door. If we could just—"

"Japan!" America snapped. Japan jumped slightly and looked up at America's disapproving look. "We can't just leave a murderer to just go about his business! He'll just go out and murder someone else!" America stood up and made some sort of pose. "We have to stop him! It's the heroic thing to do!"

Japan stared at him. "W-What?" He scrambled up and yanked America back down. "Y-You can't be serious!" He whispered. "A-America-kun, this is insane! We should get out of here!"

America frowned. "So you don't want to be my sidekick? Aw, and I'd thought of a good sidekick name for you, too. I even have a cape." He pulled a small blanket out of his pocket, with the word 'Capitalism' sewn into the back.

Japan rolled his eyes. "I don't want to be your sidekick—w-where are you going?" Japan suddenly asked as America started army-crawling toward the other side of the room.

"I don't care if you're helping, but I'm gonna do this," America replied, crouching and doing a somersault past a lamp.

Japan stared at him. "W-What? America-kun y-you can't just—!"

"Good luck without me!" America called, slipping into another room.

Japan blinked, suddenly feeling woozy. He ran after America. "W-Wait, A-America-kun! D-Don't leave me!"

…

In the next room, someone had his ear plastered to the door, a mischievous glint in his ruby-red eyes.

"Kesesese…"

…

"Alright, so, uh, what do we do now?"

Japan glanced up at America. They were currently somewhere on the second floor of the house. Italy's house wasn't the largest house in the world. Which meant that he and America had very little room to hide…

"I thought you would have a plan," Japan replied slowly, craning his head around a corner, trying to see if there was anyone there.

America rolled his eyes. "Come on, man, you know I hate thinking…" America leaned back, thinking hard. "Kay, well, we're gonna need some weapons or something." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol. "Good think I carry this around with me!"

Japan stared at it. "W-Why on earth do you have that?"

America shrugged. "Second amendment rights? I dunno, I like guns." He inspected it closely. He pulled open the barrel. "Oh _shit_! No bullets! Shit shit _shit_!"

Japan sighed. "A-Alright, calm down, America-kun," he told him. "We need to think about this logically. Now, what do people usually do in horror movies to protect themselves?"

"I dunno. They usually die at the end."

Japan flinched. "U-Um, a-anything more helpful?" He asked weakly.

"Sometimes they'll get a chainsaw and bust through as many zombies as physically possible before finally being subdued and having their brains devoured."

Japan shut his eyes. "They still die at the end though. A-And we're not dealing with zombies."

"Well, sometimes they have sex before Jason bursts in and kills everyone."

Japan blinked. He looked up at America, horrified. "W-What? Why? That doesn't even… Something useful please?"

America scowled. "That's all I got. Sorry man. Oh, and I'm not having sex with you. Creeper." He crossed his arms and pouted.

Japan groaned softly. "T-That's not… Never mind. We could try to find something to defend ourselves with." He peaked around the corner again.

"Ve~ Hi Japan! There you are!"

Japan screamed and jumped backward. Italy smiled at him. "Why are you two up here?" He asked. "I was just gonna make you guys pasta! Come on!" He held up the stained knife with a big smile.

America backed up. "S-Shit! W-We don't want you to make us pasta!" He yelled, wishing he had a gun, or anything. He glanced around quickly. Then he noticed a small vase sitting on a table. He slowly began edging toward it.

Italy stared at him. "You don't want me to make you pasta?" He asked, looking absolutely horrified. "W-Why? Pasta is so delicious! Especially with red sauce! Germany loved it a lot too~!"

America grabbed the vase and whipped it around. "Say hello to my little friend!" He screamed, hurling it at the Italian.

The vase shattered on the wall several feet behind Italy. Italy jumped and looked over his shoulder. "Um, hello…? W-Why did you just throw my vase? That's so mean. I just—" He turned back around, only to find that he was alone. "Huh?" He looked around. "America? Japan?"

…

"I-I think we lost him, America-kun!" Japan panted weakly. They were now back downstairs, hiding in the living room, behind the TV large, both wide-eyed and gasping.

America was trebling uncontrollably next to him. Japan cast him a worried look. "America-kun, are you alright?" He asked.

America nodded. "I-I've always wanted to do that…" He mumbled.

Japan gave a weak laugh. "H-Hai, that was very brave of you," he reassured him.

America nodded. "W-Well, duh. Heroes are always brave." He frowned. "Well, we're gonna need another tactic if we're going to stop Italy. You got any wooden steaks?"

Japan shook his head. "I thought stakes were for vampires," he whispered back.

"Yeah, but I'm hungry man. I can't think of plans on an empty stomach. I thought were gonna eat pasta when we got here…"

Japan looked at him, confused. "What? America-kun, you understand what a stake is, don't you—?"

"THAT'S IT!"

Japan jumped. "W-What's it?" He stammered.

"Pasta!" America replied. "All bad guys have some sort of weakness, right? So Italy's has to be pasta! It makes perfect sense!"

"A-America-kun, that doesn't make _any_ sense—"

"Alright, we're gonna need to sneak back into the kitchen to destroy the pasta. Stay behind me, kay?"

"I feel like we're just going in circles—"

America started crawling out from behind the TV. Japan sighed and followed quickly after. "Why me…?" He wondered.

The two of them slipped silently into the kitchen. Japan quickly started searching through the pots and pans spread out around the counter. He peaked into the largest pot, then let out a relieved sigh. "America-kun, I found the pasta. I really don't think it will help but—" He turned and paused. "America-kun?" He looked quickly around. "A-America-kun, where are you? A-America-kun?"

_**CRASH**_

Japan jumped. "America-kun?" He yelped. He quickly strode toward the nearest doorway, where he'd heard the crash. Then he paused. There was the puddle he'd slipped in earlier. And the spatters on the wall. So where was Germany?

"AGH!"

Japan jumped again and scrambled through the doorway.

"OH MY GOD ZOMBIES! KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT"

"VERDAMMT, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? GET OFF OF ME!"

Germany swung around and tried to pry America off of him, who was trying ineffectually to strange him. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" He screamed again, his facing turning red with fury.

"CALL OF DUTY WAS RIGHT!" America screamed frantically. "SHOOT ITS BRAIN!"

"I WAS JUST GOING TO THE BATHROOM! WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?" Germany finally managed to grab America and throw him off. "Verdammt!" He swore angrily, turning toward Japan. "Japan! What the hell is going on?"

Japan yelped and stumbled backward. "D-Don't come any closer z-zombie-san I-I have a weapon!"

Germany blinked. "What? Have you both gone insane?"

America smashed the back of his head with a book. "Get away from Japan you brain-eating psycho!" He shoved Germany and sprinted forward, grabbing Japan's arm. "Dude, come on!" He pulled Japan into the next room, then skidded to a stop.

Japan yelped. "W-What's wrong?" He looked up.

Standing in the doorway was a person, skin a pale white color, with scarlet stains all across his shirt. "I'm soooo hungry…" he mumbled, stretching his arms out in front of him. "Must eat brains…! Kesesese…"

America and Japan screamed and ran in the opposite direction.

Germany strode in. "Damn it, Prussia, what on earth are you doing?"

Prussia was doubled over in laughter. "I-I don't know but that was _awesome_!"

America and Japan sprinted up the stairs, ran into the nearest room, and dived into the closet. "S-See, I told you it was a haunted house, damn it I _told_ you! S-Shit, I don't want to die here!" America hugged Japan. "I-I still haven't eaten at every single McDonalds!"

"I-I still haven't seen the end of Naruto!" Japan lamented.

"I don't wanna die a virgin!"

"What?"

"What? Huh? Who said that?"

Suddenly the doorknob began to turn. America and Japan yelped. America pulled out a coat hanger. He held it in front of them threateningly and shut his eyes.

"What the hell are you two doing in my closet, damn it?"

America and Japan blinked. They looked up.

Romano stood there with a tired expression, scowling down at them. Japan's mouth fell open. "R-Romano-kun?"

The lights all came on simultaneously. America and Japan flinched. Romano glanced up. "Finally. Stupid power outage. Hey Veneziano!" He called. "I found your friends! They were in the closet! What'd I tell ya?"

"Ve~!" Italy skipped merrily into the room. "Hi guys! Were you playing hide and seek?"

America and Japan both sat there, mouths dangling open like fish. Italy frowned at them. "Are you two feeling okay? You're acting really weird today…"

Germany strode in, dragging his brother behind him. "Hey Italy, do you have any paper towels? Prussia somehow got red sauce on his shirt and is making a mess."

"Verdammt, West, let go, the Awesome Me can do whatever he wants, get off, oww!"

Japan spoke first. "You're not a zombie…?"

Germany glared at him. "Excuse me?" He snapped. "What are you talking about?"

Japan turned toward Italy. "A-And you're not…going to kill us?"

"Why would I do that?" Italy asked, looking confused. "I just wanted to eat pasta with you guys!"

Japan stared at them. Then he turned toward America. America looked over at him sheepishly. "Eh heh heh…uh, oops?"

Italy was smiling at them. "Was that why you guys were running around all day? Ve~ That's silly!" He hugged Japan. "So did you want to eat pasta now? Please~?"

Japan stared up at him. Then he shut his eyes. "…I…I-I think I'm just going to go home now…" he mumbled slowly.

* * *

_It's been forever since I uploaded this, huh? Well, I hope I'll be able to add a couple more later. Sorry. Happy Halloween everyone~!_


	11. Piyo

_First attempt at a chapter not taking place in the present. Hope you like it!_

* * *

The small bird gave a feeble chirp as it hopped desperately across the ground. It stared up toward the tree tops, frantically trying to remember where its nest was. It jumped up, and its wing, twisted at a strange angle, gave a small throb of pain. It tumbled forward, landing with a soft _thud_.

It hopped back up, his yellow feathers ruffling in agitation. It looked around again. It'd fallen out of the nest only a few minutes ago, right? Where had the nest gone?

There was a loud rustling. The bird froze. It fluttered its one wing frantically, trying to fly away, then scuttled into the bushes. It sat there silently, looking quickly around. Had it just been the wind—?

"That stupid jerk!" A foot the size of the little bird crashed down millimeters from its head. The bird jumped sideways as another foot crashed down nearby too. Quickly, the bird dove beneath some branches, and the feet stomped past.

"Damn him," the voice muttered again, and the little boy plopped down with a thump against a nearby tree. "Stupid, unawesome jack-ass. I don't need that idiot Hungary anyway. He's just dumb. Humph." The bird watched nervously as the kid crossed his arms, pouting. He had white hair, and was covered in dirt and bruises, as if he'd had some sort of scuffle.

The bird began edging away silently, it's eyes wide. It'd never been so close to a human before, and it didn't really care to be. It ignored the boy's angry mumbling, hopping out of the bush and fluttering up slightly. Then its wing gave another painful throb and the bird let out a startled chirp.

"Huh…?" There was another thump as the kid jumped to his feet. The bird froze and looked up. A pair of large red eyes stared down at him. "A bird?" The kid murmured. Then a grin spread across his face. And he lunged forward.

The bird let out a frantic _tweet_ as it scrambled back, but the boy's dirty hands closed quickly around its body. It chirped and squirmed, trying to get away. "Wow, I caught a bird!" The hands opened enough for the bird to peak out, enough to see the little boy leering down at it. "Kesese, stupid bird. You forget how to fly or something?"

Furiously, the bird pecked the boy's finger.

"ACK!" The kid's hands jerked, and the bird crashed face first into the dirt. "OW! YOU DUMB BIRD!" He was jumping up and down, angry tears forming in his eyes. He stuck his finger, bleeding slightly, into his mouth.

The bird started hopping away again. It tried to fly to a low branch but only managed to flutter several inches off the ground before crashing back down.

"Stupid bird…" The boy mumbled again, glaring down with his finger still in his mouth. "How come you're not flying away?" He bent down close to the bird. His head tilted slightly. "…hey!" He, frowned and reached out, scooping the angry bird back up. "Hey, your wing's looking all funny, bird!"

The bird gave an indignant chirp, as if to say, "Good observation, dumb ass."

The kid looked closely at the bird's wing, looking oddly concerned. "Why's your wing all weird-looking?" He asked the bird, as if it could answer him. Then his eyes widened. "Oh, your wing's hurt, isn't it! That's how come you're not flying away and stuff."

The bird tried to peck his finger again, but his grip was too tight for the bird to reach his fingers. He was still thinking hard, grip unconsciously tightening around his feathered captive. "Poor bird," he mumbled. "Well, if I just leave you, you'll get eaten or something…" Suddenly, his ruby red eyes lit up. "I know! I'll fix your wing!"

He turned and started running back through the woods. The bird began tweeting loudly as the boy's hands began accidentally jostling it back and forth. It dizzily started trying to squirm out of his grip. He could hear the kid saying, "Don't worry, the Awesome Me is gonna make your wing all better! Kesesese~!"

After what felt like an eternity, the boy stopped. The bird blinked and shook his head, trying to look around through the boy's fingers.

"Prussia," a stern voice was saying, "what the hell is that in your hands?"

"I found a little bird!" Prussia announced proudly. "Look!" He opened his hands and held the bird up. The small yellow bird looked up, and found itself face to face with a pair of narrowed green-blue eyes. The bird squeaked in fright and attempted to burrow back into the boy's hands. "Kesese, look, he likes me!"

"Prussia, get rid of that thing," the man said calmly, straightening back up. "It's probably diseased or something."

"What? Nein!" Prussia grabbed the bird again (much to its dismay) and pulled it back. "He's not diseased! Look, his little wing is just all funny! See?" Prussia held it up again, being sure to prod the bird's wing so Germania could see.

Germania stared blankly down at the fuzzy, semiconscious bird resting in Prussia's palms. "Uh…"

"So I'm gonna make his wing all better and stuff, okay?" Prussia smiled and held the bird tightly.

Germania rolled his eyes. "Right. Do whatever you want." With that he walked away.

Prussia grinned at the bird as he ran off, up some lopsided stairs. "Don't worry, Herr vogel (Mr. Bird), the Awesome Me is going to take good care of you!" He paused, giving the dizzy bird enough time to see that they were in a house. "Herr vogel…? Nah, that's a dumb name." He continued jogging back up the stairs.

He reached the top step, and almost immediately barreled into another child. They both yelped and tumbled forward, sending the bird flying into the second boy's face.

The boy screamed and swatted the bird, which sent it back at the albino lying on the floor. "Prussia!" He shouted in his high pitched voice. "Why the hell did you just throw that thing at me?"

"Oh, hey West!" Prussia responded, jumping back up and grabbing the bird, which, in the confusion, had been edging toward a window. "If you don't want me throwing shit at you, you gotta stop standing around so much! And this is a bird, not a thing!" He shoved the bird into his brother's face, causing him to fall back.

"Ack! P-Prussia!" He yelled again. He lobbed a few sticks he'd been playing with at Prussia's head. Prussia ran off, cackling.

"Kesesese, he's so dumb!" Prussia laughed, striding into his room and hopping onto the bed. He looked down at the bird. "Oh yeah, so I gotta do something with you! Huh…" He thought for a second, scratching his head. Then he paused, pulling a twig from his hair. "Oh yeah, birds like sticks!" With that, he stuck the twig into the bird's beak.

The bird blinked, startled. Then it glared up at the boy. "Hey, how come you're not making a nest?" Prussia demanded, scowling down. The bird rolled its eyes and dropped the twig. It grabbed some of the blankets and began pulling them into a makeshift nest.

Prussia grinned, then grabbed a small book off the floor. Flipping it open, he grabbed an old pen and started writing. "Dear diary…today was awesome!" He said as he wrote. "Earlier today Hungary kicked my…" He paused. Then he furiously scribbled something out. "Today I beat the shit outta Hungary! It was awesome! Kesese…"

The bird ignored the boy, jamming a twig into the blankets dully. Prussia continued writing. "Let's see, what else did I do today…?" He glanced around, his eyes falling on the bird. He grinned. "Oh! Today I found a fuzzy little bird!" He kept writing. "He's really fluffy, but he bit my hand. I think he likes me though! His wing is kinda crooked, but the Awesome Me is gonna make him all better!"

With that, he closed the journal with a loud _thump_ and tossed it aside, causing it to land on the makeshift nest. The bird blinked and glared up darkly at Prussia. Prussia just looked down at it. "Oh, can't you make your own nest?" He plopped down next to the bird and stared down at the twig. "Okay, so you put this thingy…here…?" He started jamming the twig into the bed. "Verdammt, why isn't this working…? Crap…this is harder than it looks…"

Finally he tossed the stick away. "Well, I can make my own even awesomer nest! I don't some stupid stick. Come on, Mr. Birdie!" He thought again. "Nein, Mr. Birdie sounds dumb too…" He grabbed the bird and ran across the room to a small table. He grabbed some paper and jammed it together, setting the bird down on top. "Perfect!"

The bird glared at him. Then it pecked at his finger. Prussia yelped and hopped back. "Hey! What was that for?" He snapped, as the bird hopped off of the 'nest'. It hopped toward the window. Prussia scowled at it. "Where're you going, bird?"

With a chirp, the bird launched itself out the window. It flapped its wings. Then its wing gave a sharp protest. The bird chirped frantically, and then plummeted toward the ground.

Prussia reached his hand out the window, letting the bird plop into his hand. "Jeez, the hell is wrong with you?" He muttered to the bird. "Trying to fly with a messed up wing? You're dumber than that Austria—" Prussia paused. "Your…oh ja! Your wing! I completely forgot!"

He pulled the bird back inside and ran to the other side of the room. He grabbed the twig and some string, then tied it to the bird's wing. "There!" He declared proudly. "Now your wing is gonna get aaall better!" He roughly patted the bird's head. "You're welcome~!"

The bird just glared up at him, ruffling his feathers angrily.

Prussia petted the bird. "Aw, aren't you cute!" He gushed happily. "Still gotta think of a name for you though! How about…_Awesome Bird_!"

There was an awkward silence. "You're right, that's dumb…" Prussia mumbled. "That can be your nickname I guess…"

The bird rolled its eyes. It nibbled slightly on the twig now tied to its wing. Somehow, it did feel slightly better. Odd.

* * *

(Weeks later)

* * *

The bird fluttered happily into the air, chirping loudly. Its wing still felt stiff, but it was almost completely healed.

It flew around a few times, finally landing on its 'nest' (Prussia found two more sticks :D) as the small albino walked dejectedly into the room. He plopped down onto his bed, lower lip jutting out into a pout. The bird chirped again, and he looked up. "Oh. Hey bird," he mumbled. He slowly stood back up, scooping the bird into his hands and walking out of the room.

As they walked out of the house, Prussia sighed. "So, um, I guess I'm not allowed to have pets…" he mumbled sadly to the bird. "And, you know, your wing is all better right? Ja, so…so…"

The bird looked up at him. Prussia held out his hand. "So, I-I guess you're supposed to leave now," he told it, eyes fixed on the ground. "So, ja, go on."

The bird continued staring at him. "A-And I'm not crying!" Prussia snapped. "Awesome people don't cry. So this is sweat. Ja, sweat. From my eyes." He paused. "Why aren't you leaving? Go away. Dumb bird."

The bird narrowed its eyes and, with a final peck to the boy's hands, flew up into the nearest tree. It landed with a happy tweet. But before it took off again, it glanced back at the little boy.

"S-Stupid bird," he blubbered angrily, red eyes filling with, um, sweat. "I-I never—" _sniffle_ "—wanted a—" _sniff_ "— stupid bird anyway even if it was—" _sniffle_ "cute and—" _sniffle_ "—fluffy a-and—" _sniff_ "—WAH I LOVED IT SO MUCH!"

The bird stared at him as he continued blubbering uncontrollably. It rolled its eyes weakly. Then it flew up, and plopped itself onto the kid's head.

Prussia wiped his eyes. "A-And I'd even thought of a good name for him too…" he said sadly. "I would'a called him Gilbird."

Gilbird pecked the top of the boy's head, trying to get his attention.

"Ja, Gilbird," Prussia mumbled. "That would've been an awesome name." He sniffled again. "I-I miss him already…"

"_Piyo!" _Then bird chirped, annoyed.

Prussia froze. Then he started crying harder. "I-I miss him so much I even think I can hear his cute little chirping!" He wailed.

If Gilbird could've groaned, he would've. Prussia turned away and started trudging back to his house. "Well, if I ever get another cute little bird, I'm going to name him Gilbird…" he decided. Gilbird sighed slightly, then settled himself comfortably into Prussia's hair.

* * *

_And that, my friends, is why Gilbird is on Prussia's head. And why Prussia doesn't seem to notice..._

_I don't even know how this popped into my head. Or why. I also have never written with Germania. Hope it was okay. I think he'd eventually just ignore Gilbird since Prussia didn't know he was there._


	12. Training With Awesome

(The time was WWII)

"Hey, West!" Prussia called as loud as he could, grabbing as many beers out of the fridge as he could and attempting to surreptitiously shove them into his pockets. "West, you doing anything today? I am so bored, and I have nothing to do! Let's go drinking!"

His voice echoed through the house, but the only response he got was the snores from the dogs lying sleepily on the kitchen floor.

Prussia scowled, slamming the fridge door closed. "West, I know that you're not still asleep!" He called again, slipping out the kitchen and toward the stairs. "West!" He climbed up the stairs, taking care to step on all the creaky ones to annoy his brother. "Hey West!"

He slammed the door open to his younger brothers bedroom, smirking. Then his face fell. Because somehow, Germany was still sound asleep.

"Um, West?" Prussia strode forward, frowning down at his brother's sleeping face. It seemed to be a pale grayish color. "West, are you okay?" Germany didn't even stir.

Prussia looked closely at his brother. "…holy shit, I think he's dead!" He shouted up toward the bird on his head, wide eyed. Then, grinning, he grabbed Germany's pillow. "Kesese I call keeping all his things!" He declared, and yanked the pillow from under Germany's head. With a startled yelp, Germany tumbled from his bed and onto the hard wooden floor.

"Kesesese, guten Morgen, Herr Schlafmütze."

Germany sat up, blinking and rubbing his head. "What the…? Prussia, what the hell was that for?" He growled, clambering back to his feet.

"Well I thought you were dead! So obviously I ransacked your room and threw your corpse onto the ground!" Prussia sat on the bed with a smirk. "Gotta have some respect for the dead y'know?"

"…we are not related," Germany decided angrily, still rubbing his head. "Gott, what time is it?"

Prussia glanced at the clock. "Um, eight?"

Germany froze. Then he cursed, turning to yank his uniform out of his dresser. "Why the hell didn't you wake me earlier?" He bellowed furiously, pulling his pants on and stumbling out the door. "I was supposed to start training with the others an hour ago!"

Prussia hopped up after him, smirking. "You were? Huh. Since when did you start sleeping in?" He asked tauntingly, then paused, because Germany had stopped against the railing on the first step to catch his breath. Prussia frowned. "…uh, West?"

"Scheiße, I don't even have time to eat," Germany muttered, continuing down the stairs and up to the front door. "If I run I might be able to—" he paused, suddenly grabbing the front door for support.

Prussia looked closely at him. "Hey West, you look whiter than me," he told him. "And that's saying something. Are you sick?"

Germany glared at him. "I don't get sick," he snapped. "I am in perfect health. Now if you'll excuse me I have a war to—" he walked into the closed door, swore furiously, and yanked it open, not even remembering to finish his sentence.

Prussia frowned after him. "Hey West, are you sure you're okay, because you seem kind of—"

Germany made a gagging noise and turned around, shoving past Prussia and stumbling into the bathroom.

"…never mind," Prussia muttered, peaking in at Germany. "I see what you mean by perfect health."

"Go to He—" Germany retched again and turned away, clamping his mouth shut tightly. Then he took a deep breath and stood back up. "N-Nein, I need to get to training," he told himself. "I can't afford a day off."

Prussia grinned. "Can I come? I wanna see you throw up all over Italy."

Germany glared at him. Prussia smirked back. Then his smile slowly faded as Germany pushed past him and toward the door. "West, you sure you should go?"

"Well, no one else is going to run the training."

Prussia frowned for a second. Then his eyes lit up. "I could always do it!" He replied.

Germany paused, looking back at him. "…really?" He asked slowly.

"Hell ja I could! It'll be easy! I just gotta watch them run a few laps and shit, right?"

Germany furrowed his brows. "It's much more than—"

"Ja, ja, whatever, I can handle it West!"

Germany scowled. "I don't know if I trust you enough to—"

"Oh come on, West, that's just the fever talking," Prussia insisted, patting Germany's shoulder. "Of course you trust me enough! Whaddya say, West?"

Prussia smiled innocently at him. Germany stared suspiciously back. Finally, he murmured, "Well, I suppose just this once—"

"JA!" Prussia cheered. "Don't worry, West, this'll be easy! Here," he thrust a beer he'd stolen into Germany's hands, "drink lots of fluids and don't go through any tunnels with lights at the end. All right, be good while I'm gone!" And with that he was gone.

Leaving a suddenly very concerned German in his wake.

…

"_Germany, Germany, Germany is a really, really nice place~. Even though I'm your prisoner you give me food and it doesn't suck like English food~! Sausages with cheese—_"

"I-Italy-kun, _please_ stop singing…"

Italy glanced up at Japan from where he was lying on the ground. "B-But I'm so bored!" He whined. "Germany isn't here yet but when I leave before he's here he'll get mad and hit me and stuff. And I like that song! I could sing it forever."

Japan sighed. _You _have_ been singing it forever,_ he thought unhappily, trying to ignore the ulcer he knew was about to form. "Where do you think Germany-san is?" He asked quietly, hoping to change the subject.

Italy frowned. "Well, maybe he's buying us presents!" He suggested suddenly.

Japan stared blankly at him. "…why would he do that…?"

Italy thought for a second. "Because he…um…I dunno," he responded. "Maybe it's your birthday!"

Japan blinked. "What?"

"Why didn't you tell me Japan? I could've made you a pasta cake!"

"But it…you know when my…never mind," he replied, shaking his head.

"Hey Dummköpfe," a loud voice called suddenly, interrupting their conversation. They both looked up, to see a pair of red eyes and a familiar grin heading toward them.

Italy hopped to his feet. "Prussia, ciao!" He called, smiling happily at him. "What're you doing here?"

"Well, West was feeling sick this morning so of course the Awesomeness that is me had to step in for him!" Prussia told him. "Preeeeetty great of me right? So, anyway, what do you guys do for training?"

Japan thought about it for a second. "Well, we usually start with a roll-call," he said. "Then we discuss what to do in certain emergencies and situations, and then run a few laps—"

"G-Germany is sick?" Italy asked suddenly, his face fallen into a frightened expression.

Prussia glanced at him. "Um, ja, I said that already. Anyway—"

"B-But Germany can't get sick!" Italy stammered. "He never gets sick! _Oh my god, is he dying?_"

Prussia rolled his eyes. "Yes. Obviously he is dying, that is why I left him alone at home," he muttered. "Now, after the laps do you guys—?"

"WAAAAAH NO GERMANY CAN'T DIE" Italy screamed hysterically.

"W-What? Nein, hey, Italy, what the hell?" Prussia yelped, then slapped his hand over the Italian's mouth quickly. "No. He is not dying. So stop that."

"H-He's not?"

Prussia sighed. "Right, so anyway, let's do this roll-call thing!"

"U-Uno!" Italy called out, wiping his eyes and smiling again.

"Ni," Japan said.

"So I guess I'm drei? Alright, awesome, let's start training!"

"Yay, this'll be easy!" Italy declared happily, no sign that he had been crying only a moment ago.

Prussia's face fell. "…uh, what?"

"Well, usually Germany acts really mean, but you're not mean, so this'll be much better!" Italy told him with a smile.

Prussia scowled at him. "Um…right, anyway, um, what kind of emergencies do you guys discuss?"

Italy grinned at him. "All kinds of things! Like, um, we know what to do if England appears in a tutu and tells you you're the father of his child!"

Prussia stared at him for a moment, open-mouthed. Japan turned toward him. "Īe, no Italy-kun I don't think that was a serious conversation…"

"HAHAHA WHAT THE HELL KIND OF EMERGENCY IS THAT?" Prussia laughed, doubling over.

Italy looked at him seriously. "W-Well, I mean, would you want to be their dad?"

Prussia was still sniggering. "Pfft, alright, let's talk about a different kind of emergency. Let's say someone has a knife to your throat. What do you do?"

Italy paled. "…c-cry and surrender?"

Prussia frowned. "Um, no."

"Tell them you're not the father of their child?"

"No!"

"Tell them you're not the _mother_ of their—"

"Why the hell would that even be an issue?"

"I don't know! People write weird things on the internet!"

Prussia turned toward Japan. "Well, what would you do in this situation?" He asked.

Japan thought. "Well, did I have any weapons? And were there more people there?"

Prussia thought for a second. "Um, no and probably," he replied.

"Well, I might be able to pretend to negotiate with them and then—"

"Are any of them girls? I hope they're girls!"

"Oh mein Gott, is this why West is angry all the time?" Prussia groaned. "Right, you know what? Let's stop! Let's run, that sounds way more awesome!"

Italy pouted. "But I don't like running," he protested.

Prussia took a deep breath. "Well I'm in charge while West is puking his guts out, so guess what? Start running."

"B-But I—"

"Damn it, Italy, fifty laps, right now!"

"F-Fifty? B-But I—"

"Start running or I beat your unawesome ass _into next week_!"

Italy screamed and took off as fast as his legs could carry him. Prussia grinned, crossing his arms. "Kesese, this isn't that hard. I don't get what West was so worried about! You just gotta act really angry and Italy does whatever you say!"

Japan cast him an uncomfortable glance. "W-Well, um, Prussia-san, Germany-san usually only makes him run about twenty laps—"

"Twenty?" Prussia snorted. "Jeez, no wonder you two are so out of shape." He glanced up at him. "And why aren't you running?"

"…w-what?"

"Go on, run." He shooed Japan toward where Italy was currently frantically running in circles. Japan glanced warily back at him, then began running after Italy, who had tripped over his untied shoelaces. Prussia frowned. "Italy, what the heck—?"

"P-Prussia can you help me?" He stammered.

"What the hell do you need help with?" He questioned. "Tie your damn shoelaces and start running!"

"B-But I can't!" Italy protested. "Germany usually helps me tie my shoes!"

Prussia's eyebrow rose. "He does? Gott, now West is becoming a sissy. Listen, Italy," he bent down next to him, "I have an awesome idea. You can hop the whole way! Genius, right?"

Italy frowned. "Why would I do that?"

Prussia rolled his eyes. Then he straightened up. "Oh hi, England!" He shouted suddenly over Italy's shoulder.

Italy, of course, immediately screamed and took off, half stumbling half sprinting down the path. Prussia started cackling behind him. "Oh mein Gott," he sniggered. "This is fun! What the hell is West's problem with this?" He jogged after the two of them.

(Many laps later)

"P…P-Prussia…c-can I…can I stop now?" Italy whimpered, wheezing on the ground.

Prussia glanced up at Italy. "Oh come on Italy, it's been, what, twenty minutes?"

"T-Thirty," Japan responded, gasping weakly from nearby as he slowed down. "O-Oh, I-I am too old for this…"

"P-Prussia, why aren't you running?" Italy whined.

Prussia rolled his eyes. "Because I am doing something extremely important right now," he responded.

"W-What are you doing?" He asked, trying to sit up and failing spectacularly.

Prussia glared at him. "I am making important battle plans," he replied. "Someone has to while West is sick! So keep running."

"Prussia-san why is your bird on that miniature submarine that I—"

"_Battle plans!_" Prussia snapped back. "_Keep running!_"

Japan sighed. Italy looked like he could cry.

("Aw, just ignore them Gilbrid. Alright then, Captain, prepare to launch the torpedoes! _Pchooo, pchooo! Awooga! Oh no, we've been hit aaahhhh!_")

…

"Alright, I guess we could stop for a bit," Prussia called out a while later.

Italy hit the ground face first, unable to breathe. Japan shakily sat down next to him, grabbing at the stitch in his side. "I-Italy-kun, are you alright?" He asked.

"Ve, is that you God?"

Prussia watched them for a minute, before running off, returning moments later with a large barrel. "So, you two, guess what's in here~!"

"Pasta?"

"It is beer," Japan guessed calmly, slowly clambering back to his feet now that the cramp in his side was gone.

"Das stimmt~! Beer! But this thing is heavy as hell," he told them.

Italy hopped to his feet. "Yay, we're celebrating!" He cheered, before his face fell slightly. "Oh, but I like wine better than beer though."

Prussia cackled. "And for that comment, _you _are carrying the beer!"

Italy blanched. "W-What?"

"Yup, new exercise! You two are gonna carry this for me! I know what you are thinking: Why the hell am I so much smarter than West? Kesese~!"

"B-Both of us?" Japan stammered. "B-But I—"

"No talk! Beer carrying! Now!" He turned away, laughing to himself as Italy and Japan tried sullenly to lift up the large barrel. "Come now, lift with your back!"

"…but doesn't Germany-san say to use your legs—!"

"Screw that, hurry it up!"

"Waaah, I wanna go home…" Italy whined. Japan just sighed unhappily.

…

"Come on, you two, just a hundred more pushups!" Prussia called out from his chair at the bar, chugging his next beer enthusiastically. "Gott, you two make really comfortable footrests!"

"Prussia-san it's already well past when we stop training for the day…"

"I-I don't wanna do this anymooooore…"

The door to the bar opened suddenly. "Hey, bruder," a voice called out. Everyone froze and looked up at the tall German standing in the doorway. He frowned. "You are all still training?"

Italy jumped to his feet and tackled Germany. "GERMANYYY!" He screamed. "I-I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD AND PRUSSIA WAS MAKING US DO ALL KINDS OF BAD THINGS AND HE SAID IF I DIDN'T DO ALL THESE PUSHUPS HE'D MAKE ME DO THEM WITH NO HANDS I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO DO THAT!"

Germany glanced down at him. "No-handed pushups?" He questioned, glancing up skeptically at Prussia.

Prussia grinned. "Hey West, this isn't too difficult!" He called toward his brother. "I'm probably the most awesome person to ever help out with this training stuff! Nein, wait, get rid of the word 'probably'! Kesesese~!"

Germany sighed. "Well, all things considered, good job," he replied.

"Yeah, well, next time you get all sick, I can help out!" Prussia replied, hopping to his feet and striding past him.

Germany nodded. "Um, alright, thank you."

There was a long and uncomfortable silence once Prussia had disappeared out the door. Unless you count Italy's sobbing as noise. Or Japan's quiet interruption of, "Germany-san, please never get sick again…"

* * *

_Guten Morgen, Herr Schlafmütze ~ Good morning, Mr. Sleepyhead_

_Īe ~ No_

_Das stimmt ~ That's right_

_I think in the English Dub they did talk about something like the tutu England thing. I feel as though Germany was either making fun of Italy or _really_ needs therapy._

_Also, never lift stuff with your back. It is very unhealthy, and that is how you will break your back._

_Man, it's been months since I posted a new story here, huh? Oh well. hope you like it!_


	13. Italy to the Rescue I

_This is for my friend Rachel. I am glad you are feeling better._

* * *

Italy hopped out of his car and onto Germany's driveway with his usual enthusiasm, his large smile spread across his face as he spun toward the familiar house. He made his way (read: skipped) to the front door and knocked loudly. It was mid afternoon. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and although it was still a lot colder than his own house was, he no longer could see his breath the way he had a few months ago. It was a wonderful day.

Italy knocked again after a minute of waiting. Germany always told him to call ahead, so he could clean or something. Italy never remembered, though. Besides, of course Germany would want to hang out with him! That was what best friends did!

He heard a click, and sat up excitedly, practically bouncing in place. The door swung open. "Ciao Germa—" He froze, realizing that, instead of the tall, muscular German, standing in front of him, he was met with Germany's slightly-shorter, red-eyed, rather exhausted-looking brother.

Prussia perked up slightly when he saw Italy. "Oh hey Italy!" He greeted, his usual, toothy grin spreading across his face. "What's up?"

Italy smiled up at him. "Ve~ Hi Prussia!" He said. "I didn't think you were gonna still be here, usually Germany says you go drinking by now!"

Prussia's smile faded slightly. "Err…not today," he replied brightly, but Italy could've sworn he heard a sort of nervousness in his tone as he shrugged.

Italy frowned a little at him, then shrugged himself. "Well, I bet you have plenty of beer inside, don't worry—" He took a step forward.

Suddenly, Prussia stepped in front of him, blocking him from entering the house. Italy paused, startled. "Um, what're you doing?" He asked, confused.

Prussia blinked. "Doing? Me? I'm not doing anything. Why would I be doing anything? You're so silly, Italy." He reached forward and ruffled Italy's hair.

"Then…why won't you let me come in?" Italy asked, stepping to the other side, trying to peek through the door.

Prussia stepped the same way, still blocking Italy's entrance. "Um, today's not really that good a day," Prussia told him quickly. "So, um, maybe come back tomorrow. Or next week. Or month."

Italy frowned some more, starting to feel slightly hurt. Prussia didn't want to hang out with him? "Um…o-okay I guess. Well is Germany there? Maybe he can come outside and we can get some gelato—"

"Um, nein, no he's not home," Prussia cut him off quickly. "We're busy today. Ja, we're hanging out today."

Italy thought for a second. "…wait, if he's not home, how are you hanging out?"

Prussia paused. Then he slammed the door shut.

Italy jumped. "W-Wha—?"

"Sorry Italy!" Prussia called from the other side of the door. "Come back tomorrow!"

Italy stood at the front door, unsure of what to do now. That was strange. Usually Prussia loved hanging out with Italy! What was going on? Italy leaned over, looking through a nearby window, startled to see that the shades were shut on such a nice day. Something didn't seem right.

He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his cell phone. Fortunately, he had Germany's number on speed dial. Going to the next window, he dialed Germany's number and pressed his phone to his ear. It went straight to Germany's voicemail. Italy pouted, then dialed Germany's home number.

Prussia picked up almost immediately. "Italy, are you just standing outside?" He asked incredulously, peaking through the blinds out at Italy.

"Si!" Italy smiled. Then, "Wait, no."

Prussia sighed. "Italy, West isn't, um, feeling all that well today, alright? He needs to sleep a bit."

Italy froze. "He's sick? Is he okay?" He asked. There was a long pause. "Is he dying!? Oh my god Germany's dying!"

"What? Nein, nein he's perfectly fine. Really, the doctors said he'll be better in a few days."

Italy frowned some more, then perked up, an idea crossing his mind. "Hey sometimes I take care of Romano when he's sick, I could help Germany feel better, I'm sure he'll hit me less!"

"What? Whoa, nein nein, nuh uh, no that is the _opposite_ of what West wanted." He could see Prussia shaking his head frantically, then close the shades again. "Just go home, when he's up I'll tell him you were here, okay?"

"But—"

There was a click as Prussia hung up the phone.

Italy looked at the screen, startled at the abrupt end of the conversation. Prussia was being so mean today. He looked back toward the window. Poor Germany. Was he bedridden? Was his stomach hurting? That was always awful, Italy couldn't eat pasta when his stomach hurt.

Italy looked toward the door unhappily. There had to be some way to get inside and see his best friend. He frowned, steeling himself, striding back to his car, pulling some stuff out of his back seat. Italy was going to get in there and make Germany feel better whether or not Prussia let him in. It was time to pull out all the stops. Angrily, he strode back and knocked on the door.

A few seconds later, Prussia pulled it open, starting to look annoyed. "Italy, what—?"

"I SURRENDER!"

Prussia blinked at the white flag Italy was suddenly waving in front of his face. "…uummm…?"

Italy suddenly lunged forward, managing to dive between Prussia's legs and into the house. Prussia frowned in confusion for a moment, then calmly turned around, bent down, grabbed Italy by the back of his shirt, and placed him back outside the house.

They both stood there in an awkwardly long silence. "…can I _please_ come in?" Italy asked.

The door slammed shut.

Italy stood outside the door dazedly. "Wow, Prussia's almost as good at fighting as Germany," he mused.

"Italy, I literally picked you up and put you outside," came the muffled response.

Italy frowned, not really listening to Prussia. "And I even went all out!" He sighed, frowning down at his flag. "Hmm, well I guess I could just…"

"…ack, West, what're you doing out here, go back to bed!" He heard Prussia's muffled voice moving away from the door.

Italy shrugged. "Well, maybe I'll just get in like I usually do!" He turned toward the door, pulling off a small pin he'd used to fasten the flag to the wooden stick, then stuck it into the lock, the way Romano showed him once many years ago. The door clicked, and swung open.

"Yay, perfetto!" And Italy strode inside.

The inside didn't seem as neat as it usually did, Italy's first indicator that Germany was seriously ill and bedridden and quite possibly dead. He tiptoed quietly through the house, toward Germany's room, gripping his flag tightly in case he ran into Prussia.

Which, wouldn't you know it, happened almost instantaneously.

"Italy!?"

"W-What, no, I'm just a plumber! All your plumbs seem to be working glad I could help have a nice day!"

Prussia grabbed Italy by the scruff of the neck as he attempted to sprint down the hallway. Italy yelped in fright. "Wah I surrender don't hurt me I'm just a cute little plumber don't you want your plumbs all fixed!?"

Prussia sniggered slightly. "Kesese, ja sure you can fix my pipes…ugh but not today Italy you should go home—"

"P…Prussia?"

They both froze, and turned to find Germany, standing in the doorway. His blue eyes seemed glazed, and his hair was in complete disarray. His jaw seemed swollen, and he was swaying on his feet, grabbing onto the doorway for support.

Prussia dropped Italy immediately (who hit the floor with a squeak) and turned toward his brother. "West, what the hell are you doing?"

"Pruss…Prussia I cn't…I-I can't find m' hand," Germany told him.

Both Prussia and Italy stared at him blankly. Prussia cleared his throat. "It's, um, on your arm," he said, pointing awkwardly.

"Nein it's not there," Germany insisted. His words sounded slurred. "I can't…I ca…I-I think it's…oh here't is…"

"Ja, good, now go lay down now…" Prussia walked over and grabbed his arm, pushing Germany back into his room.

Italy stared after them, following hesitantly after as Germany collapsed into his bed. "Prussia, what's wrong with Germany?"

Prussia laughed slightly, looking back toward Italy. "Erm, he had some sort of surgery on his mouth for something, I dunno what, I didn't listen all that hard. I guess they pulled some teeth out? They put him on some reeaally weird drugs for the pain."

"Italy, d'you…d'you know where they put my tongue?" Germany asked groggily, as Prussia attempted to shove a large ice pack onto his face.

Italy stared blankly at him. "Um…no?"

"They hid it fffrom me. Those basfgshfgs…bastrdtg…I can't…I think they're took my face when they were singing those…those songs…"

"Um…" Italy leaned over to Prussia, whispering, "I-Is he…_okay_ though?"

"Ja, he's fine," Prussia insisted. "At least better that he was doing earlier. He cried for half an hour because he thought his lamp broke up with him. Kesesese…"

Italy frowned. "What?"

"Nah don't worry, they got back together. Now…" He grabbed Italy's shoulder, steering him out of the room. "West is going to kill me if he knows you saw him, alright?"

Italy smiled at him. "Don't worry, Prussia, once we help him feel better I'm sure he'll forgive you!"

"Ja, I guess he'll probably be too messed up to really—whoa wait, 'we'?" Prussia shook his head. "I'm screwed as it is, I don't think you should stay here."

"What?" Italy protested as Prussia started pushing him toward the door. "But I can't just leave when Germany is sick and kinda crazy. We're best friends! I promised that I'd help him whenever he was in trouble and this is one where I'm not even being shot at! _Pleeaase?_" Italy looked up at him with the largest puppy eyes he could muster.

"Nein Ita…" Prussia froze, seeing Italy's usually-closed eyes. "A-Ack, nein, no puppy eyes. No, no I'm not looking I'm not looking I'm not…" He grimaced, risking another look. Italy stared up at him. "_V-Verdammt_, fine! Go ahead. Stay. Ugh, no fair…" Prussia pouted slightly, crossing his arms.

Italy hopped up and down. "Yay! Thanks Prussia~!" He skipped past, into Germany's room.

Prussia sighed to himself. "Gott, Italy's so cute…" He complained, shaking his head.

Italy slowed as he neared the bed, frowning at Germany's sleeping form. He had to take care of Germany for a bit he guessed. Being the responsible one out of the two of them was a little nerve-wracking, but he made a promise, and unless he was in any immediate danger, he would never break that promise—

Germany's hand suddenly shot out, latching onto Italy's arm, and thus putting him in immediate danger.

Italy squeaked in fright, jumping back, but found himself unable to move. "G-Germany?" He asked nervously. "What're you—?"

"I c'n…smell colors," Germany told him, his eyes unfocused.

Italy paused. "…what?"

"Why're you im'my house?" He asked.

Italy gave him a smile. "I'm here to make you feel all better!" He told him.

"Can y' bring back all thhh floating lights?"

"Um…" Italy stared at him a second, starting to get legitimately worried. "No…but I can get you some soup," he suggested meekly. "D-Do you want some soup, Germany?"

Germany seemed to debilitate for a moment. Eventually he gave a small nod, letting go of Italy's arm and laying back against his pillow. "Ja I want soup…" He mumbled sleepily.

"O-Okay," Italy said back, backing slowly out of the room. "Si, I'll go make you some soup. Um good night." With that he stumbled out the door.

Prussia laughed slightly as Italy walked over. "Kesese, what's with that face?" He asked.

"Germany is acting really, really weird," Italy said uncomfortably. "I don't really like it…"

Prussia shrugged. "Eh it's not that bad. Kinda funny most of the time." He grinned.

"No, I mean…" Italy shook his head. "I don't like being the responsible one."

Prussia laughed at that. "Why? It's not so hard being responsible!"

Italy shrugged. "I dunno. Usually Germany is the one that takes care of me and stuff. And then I don't have to do anything! But now Germany is sick and I gotta actually…_do_ stuff!"

Prussia shrugged. "Well, ja, that's the point," he said. Italy pouted slightly, glancing back toward the door. Prussia just smirked, ruffling Italy's hair affectionately. "Besides, it's kind of fun being West for the day."

"…Si, I guess," Italy mumbled, turning toward the kitchen to make some soup.

* * *

_To be continued I think possibly._

_Been a while since I updated this. Oh well. _


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